


No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

by Midnight_Ophelia



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: All of the Mighty Nein show up eventually, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angsty in places but there's gonna be a happy ending, Background Relationships, Caleb Widogast Deserves Nice Things, Character Death Fix, Eventual Sex, F/F, F/M, Genderfluid Mollymauk Tealeaf, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mentions of past child abuse, Mollymauk Tealeaf's Backstory, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Astrid/Caleb/Eodwulf, Political Marriage, Politics, Rating May Change, Recreational Drug Use, Royal Mollymauk, Slow Burn, Time Travel Fix-It, Trent Ikithon Being an Asshole, War, Warmage Caleb Widogast, Watch as Caleb juggles multiple secrets, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-10-02 12:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Ophelia/pseuds/Midnight_Ophelia
Summary: First he's dead and then he's not.Mollymauk Tealeaf crawls out of his grave two years in the past with an order from the Matron of Ravens' Champion: Find Caleb Widogast and fix what has happened. And what will. That's easier said then done when he's got his past (and Caleb's closet full of skeletons) to contend with.Why can't anything ever be simple?





	1. The Curious Resurrection of Mollymauk Tealeaf

_The 13th of Cuersaar 333 P.D._

For most people, it’s rare to die and be brought back in a nice, non-necromantic manner with all of your bits intact, even rarer to do it twice in one lifetime. While Mollymauk doesn’t know much, he’s plenty aware of his strange sort of luck and spent his second chance living his life to its fullest, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The shoe did, but at least he had no regrets even as the blade entered his heart. It’s quick. Just brief intense pain followed by nothing. That’s it. Show’s over. Pack up and go home, everyone.  It’s not the worst way to go, but it’s certainly not one of the better ways, either.

He was content with that. He died helping a friend and getting the last word in.

Or it seemed to be the case at the time until he opens his mouth and dirt comes falling in, choking him in such a way that there’s immediate, uncomfortable familiarity. Panic grips him as he desperately begins to dig his way out of a shallow grave. It takes what feels like a lifetime comprised of minutes for him to finally break the surface, coughing and gasping for precious air under the light of the twin moons.

Molly sits there, breathing hard until the worst of the fear subsides, and slowly collects himself as his gaze takes in the world around him with wide eyes. Memories swirl inside his head.

He knows this place.

( _A beautiful winged half-elf with long dark hair and kind, sad eyes, stood before him. All around them was a void of darkness filled with thousands of shining, golden strings. The half-elf smiled and brushed a hand across Molly’s cheek with the faintest of touches that was both chilling and warm. A strange sensation._

_“Hey, Mollymauk,” they said with a casualness that was out of place in the location. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I need you to be calm.”_

_“I’m dead. Again.” Molly knew the answer already. He was crouched on the ground(?), naked, with one of those golden strings emerging out from his scarred chest. Molly traced a finger down along it. “Who are you?”_

_The half-elf shrugged. “I’m the one who brought you here.”_

_“Alright. So I am dead.” A flash of metal, the red of blood, a look of shock on Beau’s face. “And you work for the Matron of Ravens.”_

_“Yeah, pretty much. I’m Vax’ildan, Champion of the Raven Queen.” His expression turned sympathetic, wings rustling. “And my Lady has an offer for you, should you wish to accept it.”_

_The Gods never offered anything without expecting something in return. “What’s the offer?”_

_Vax’ildan crossed his arms, a restless motion. “How much do you know about your former companion Caleb Widogast?”_

_If Molly had a functioning heart he imagined that it would have skipped a beat. “Not a hell of a lot. A bit traumatized by something, I’d guess, but I never asked for a clarification. Why?”_

_“Your wizard friend’s done something that even the Gods can manage only sometimes,” Vax’ildan began. “He’s gone into his past and changed events that were meant to happen, and by doing so he’s changed the future.”_

_Molly stared in shock. “What does this have to do with me?”_

_“My Lady has surmised that you’re the best chance of getting the man back on track.” Vax’ildan sunk down to look Molly in the eyes. “You don’t have to do it, but you’re the best hope.”_

_“Why me?”_

_Vax’ildan sighed. “I’m not great at explaining things. There’s some people, like I was, that are fate-touched, those with a, well, particular sort of destiny. Caleb is one. So are you. The Raven Queen can make allowances for a return when it’s necessary. Your time isn’t now. She can’t send you back to the beginning, but she can send you back. In a manner.”_

_Time travel? Molly had heard the stories of mages that had attempted to twist time to their benefits, but it hardly ever worked. Magic always came with a cost, and Caleb had no doubt paid it. Question was, what was it, and did Molly even want to get involved?_

_“Alright, fine. I’ll do it. Better than being dead.”_

_Vax’ildan pressed two fingers to Molly’s forehead. “There’s a rule, though. If they do not know they cannot know.”_

_With that vague warning the world went dark.)_

Molly pulls himself out of his thoughts and struggles to his feet, muscles feeling like he’s ran miles uphill. Considering not twenty minutes ago he’d been dead, he’ll take it over the alternative. He’s just happy that this time around he knows exactly who he is.

Oh, sure, the shock’s bound to kick in again anytime now, ( _congrats, you’ve died not only twice, but you get to relive the same resurrection)._ Compartmentalize. First things first he needs to find the circus. They should be passing through in a few days, but he’s not going to wait that long. He’s exhausted, starving, and in need of a bath.

Molly looks down at himself and for the first time since crawling out of the ground, he takes the moment to examine his body.

No tattoos but for the red eyes, bland clothes coated with dirt. His hands fly to his hair. The curls are shorn short and his horns are bare.

“For fuck’s sake…” Molly mutters, dropping his hands back to his sides.

He really is going to be forced to do everything all over again. Evidently the gods’ powers didn’t extend to tattoos and hair when it came to time travel via resurrection. Nevermind baths, he’s going to find an artist.

Grumbling under his breath, Molly ignores the dèja vu and begins walking in a vague direction.

* * *

_20th of Cuersaar 333 P.D._

 Good news is that he does find the circus and they do take him in, but unlike the first time around, there’s no need to teach him how to talk or function. He still plays the amnesiac in so far as his past goes. There’s no lie in that. He has other things to focus on other than the possible ghost of Lucian clinging to his back.

Like this strange mission.

“How’re doing, Molly?” Gustav asks him, his lanky form crouching down to Molly’s level. “Settling in alright?”

Molly grins and sets down what is the start of his beautiful coat. “Mostly, yeah. Feels like home.”

He’s been with them for a week, most of it spent on the road between towns, and it’s as if he’s never left. His body remembers the former tasks he’s done so many times before and he throws himself into them with all of his enthusiasm.

“I’m glad to hear that. It’s good to have a home.”

“It is.”

* * *

His second time's a pleasant one, getting to relive all his best memories over a course of weeks and months. He pulls off cons and tries to improve all the places he visits for old times’ sakes. Not to say that everything is ideal. Having died twice will cause some issues, like one can expect, and he spends his first few months dealing with occasional nightmares of his most recent one.

Those around him offer what support they can when they have their own personal problems to deal with. He doesn’t begrudge them, and he continues to focus on work and hobbies to ignore the memory of Lorenzo’s grinning face.

He finishes his coat, his hair grows out, and his skin becomes a canvas of brilliant colors and shapes, and soon enough Yasha joins them.

The utter relief he feels is overwhelming, and more than once he has to duck away to sob. He can’t think that in the future she’ll be a prisoner of a sadistic fuck. He pushes his fears down and re-befriends her as quickly as Yasha’s nervousness will allow, sticking closely to her side when the Stormlord hasn’t called her away.

She tells her story and he tells his. What he can of it anyway.

And in the blink of an eye two years have passed since being brought back.

* * *

_19th of Sydenstar 335 P.D._

 “The Academy’s in Rexxentrum, right?” Molly asks Yasha a few days before he intends on beginning his search for Caleb.

He had initially hoped that things would work as it had originally if he just repeated everything, and would walk into that tavern in Trostenwald to find the soon-to-be Mighty Nein sitting around their tables, but that...didn’t...happen. The show that night goes on without a hitch. No zombies, no arrests, no fiends. Kylre and Toya disappear the night before without a clue to where they are.

The events that brought together a ragtag bunch of assholes is no longer the case, which means that sitting around and just waiting for him isn’t in the cards.

“I think so?” replies Yasha, eyeing him curiously. “Are you planning on going there?”

“Maybe?” Caleb could still be there. Who knows. Finding one filthy wizard with an affinity for fire and time fuckery shouldn’t be hard, right? “I feel like I should.”

“I’ll come with you if you want.” Yasha sheaths her greatsword and scoots closer to Molly. “Are you well?”

Molly hides his concerns behind a grin. “Oh, I’m fine.” Mostly. “You know, you don’t have to come for my sake.” He leans his head against her shoulder. “I don’t want to leave, either.”

“Then why are you?”

Molly sighs and touches his chest. The wound isn’t there, but the sensation remains like a dull ache down to his core. “Would you do anything for the Stormlord if he asked, even if you were afraid? Because it’s important, and way beyond you?”

Yasha gives him a little frown and a nod, certainty flashing in her two-toned eyes like lightning strikes.”I would. Is the Moonweaver speaking to you?”

“No, not her.” _Just another._ Molly considers telling her of his mission and the words die in his throat, just like all the other times he’s wanted to spill the beans. She only knows as much as she ever did. “I was just wondering.”

“Alright.” Yasha, bless her, lets it go just like that, no more questions asked.

Molly clears his throat. “I, uh, already told Gustav what I plan on doing.” The conversation had been strangely easy to have, no real fuss beyond a bittersweet sadness. Molly isn’t the first to leave, people leave the circus all the time for their own reasons, but it’s still a lot.

“When did you plan on leaving?”

“In a few days at least. Probably. Once we get closer to Zadash.” For as much as Molly hates to remain in one place for too long, Zadash had been fun -and troublesome- when he’d been there. He has no intention on staying long, but the bathhouse and a comfortable bed are calling his name. Just one night and then it’s back on the road for him.

“Okay,” Yasha says with an air of finality. “I will make sure to pack.”

Molly chuckles. “Good plan.”

* * *

_24th of Sydenstar 335 P.D._

 They leave a bit sooner than expected, packs full of rations and their few personal belongings, including Molly’s tarot cards carefully wrapped up and tucked away in his coat pocket like an old familiar friend. Every so often as they walk further away from home for the second time, Molly gives them a gentle pat.

He’d done a quick, three card reading before they’d left, the message floating through his head as a constant reminder: Wheel of Fortune, Temperance, and Six of Swords.

_Destiny, purpose, transition._

Cards, Molly knows, have a funny way of reaffirming everything you already knew. Well, when you weren’t purposefully fudging them that was, which he hadn’t been. No, he was pretty certain that these were telling the truth. It was either that or pure coincidence.

He highly doubts that when he’s dealing with a Goddess of Fate, Death, and Other Such Things.

Molly considers these while he walks the two days of travel with Yasha by his side. The trip is as uneventful as they come. No one pays attention to two travelers, apart from the occasional stare one comes to expect when you’re a purple tiefling with a tall woman with a greatsword on her back. It’s that same greatsword that keeps any roadside robbers a good distance away.

Apart from that the road hasn’t changed and neither has the weather, the same old cold rain falling every so often, leaving Molly damp down to his skin and muddy up to his calves. Yasha’s eyes lock onto the sky in longing, waiting for a call only she can hear.

“I’m so ready for a bath,” Molly groans when they finally reach Zadash and are allowed through the gates, but not before given a good ol’ stink eye from the crownsguard manning it. He gives them a flirty finger waggle that’s met with a reproachful glare.

“You _are_ covered in mud,” agrees Yasha. “I would like one as well.”

Molly claps, startling a couple standing near them. “That settles it, then. First a bath, then a good night’s sleep. My knots have knots.”

People naturally give them a wide berth as they weave through the evening crowd going about their business, the rain slowing down to a chilly drizzle that’s far more tolerable than the deluge they had been having. Molly inhales the sweet scents coming from the various food carts they pass, his stomach rumbling to helpfully remind him that rations are not all that filling or tasty even if they do get the job done. Nothing like hot mulled wine and donuts.

He’s considering grabbing some to take with him when an authoritative voice calls out behind him. “Wait, you there!”

“Maybe they’re talking to someone else,” Molly says as an aside to Yasha, his tail twitching irritably.

Yasha tenses, waiting for a cue should he wish to flee or fight.” I don’t think they are. Should we…?”

Molly glances over his shoulder to see a crownsguard, the same one at the gate in fact, pushing his way through the civilians and towards them at a brisk pace, hand on the sword at his side. The expression on his face is not angry, but it’s close enough to be pushed that direction with little prompting.

“Alright, why don’t we just hear them out…” Molly slows down, Yasha following his lead, and turns around to face the crownsguard as he catches up with them. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Molly’s only just arrived, there’s no way that he’s already done something wrong, right? Unless it’s the whole tiefling thing, in which case he’ll be having some strong words with the Lawmaster about prejudice in the ranks.

The crownsguard stops and gives him a very thorough once-over. “You,” he points at Molly, “I need you to come with me.”

Molly lifts an eyebrow. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Just come with me.”

“Molly…” Yasha starts.

Molly puts a hand on her bicep. “It’s okay, dear. I think this fine gentleperson just wants to talk.” Hopefully. “Where are we going?”

“To the King’s Hall.”

_Ah, for fuck’s sake._

“Lead the way.”

Yasha bristles when irons are locked around his wrists and she goes to block the crownsguard, her body language hostile and her eyes going red around the edges with threatening fury.

“Yasha, it’s alright. We’ll get this figured out. It’s probably just a simple mistake.”

With extreme reluctance she steps back and follows behind as the crownsguard leads Molly towards the King’s Hall. He recalls the Lawmaster being a reasonable sort before, hopefully she still will be, and he’ll be free and clear in no time at all. He can’t let this get in his way. He puts up no fight, giving the crownsguard no reason to use force or accuse him of anything.

It doesn’t take very long once they’ve reached the Hall for someone to notice them and summon the Lawmaster. “Yes, you wanted to speak with me?” She comes out dressed in robes and fixes Molly under a stare. “Ah, I see.”

“We spotted him and this one,” the crownsguard gestures towards Yasha, “entering the city. He matches the description.”

Lawmaster Orthena Stonegrasp nods. “That does appear to be true.”

“What should I do with him, Ma’am?”

“Bring him to my office, this isn’t a conversation we should be having in the middle of the entryway.” Yasha is told to remain were she is, and Orthena brings them to the same office that Molly’s already been in and shuts the door. “Please, sit.”

Molly awkwardly sits down in the chair situated at the front of the desk. “Can I know what I’m here?”

Orthena takes a seat behind her desk and without preamble asks, “Does the name Lucian mean anything to you?”

Molly’s heart jumps and all the blood drains to his feet at the name. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

He attempts to grin to hide his incoming panic attack, sweat gathering at his brow and his stomach twisting. “Not sure it does.”

Orthena leans forward. “Really? A lavender-skinned tiefling with red eyes and a slim build; you certainly match the descriptions. While I’m sure that there are others that do as well, that coloring is extremely rare.”

“That still doesn’t mean I’m whoever that is,” Molly bites out. He’d take on every damn crownsguard in the empire to get out of this conversation.

“No, it doesn’t, and I’m not going to say that you’re him, but it is rather suspicious.” She’s not looking at him unkindly, but seriously, like the answers are on his face, which they might be. “If this is a mistake then you’ll be well compensated for your trouble, I assure you, but we have to be certain.”

“If you would mind saying what this is all about, I’d be grateful,” he says, bile rising at the back of his throat. He’s going to be sick.

“Lucian of Xhorhas is the youngest prince of the Krynn Dynasty, and last seen two years ago. Recently however, word has reached us that the ruling queen has been searching for him. King Dwendal wanted Lucian to be found before they could and put out a description that his spies have given.”

Molly slouches in his seat. He’s getting the distinct feeling that he’s being laughed at by the Gods, the punchline of a cosmic joke as he’s once again inconvenienced by Lucian,who’s a bloody fucking _prince_ on top of everything else because of course he is.

“I’m not him, Lawmaster.”

“Maybe not, but I’ll be sending for people to determine whether or not that’s true.”

“Fine. Obviously there’s nothing else I can say.”

He sits there in silence as he waits for those that will determine his fate. He has no idea how long he’s there for until the crownsguard returns with two women. The first is short with blond hair, cropped short around a handsome face, and dark brown eyes. She’s wearing gold and blue robes that Molly recognizes as those worn by high-ranking mages.

The other woman is Beauregard, of all possible people, a bored expression afixed to her face as she stands behind the mage in her blue monk’s clothes with an air of wanting to be anywhere but here. It’s a mutual feeling.

“Well, he looks like him,” the blond mage woman says, her voice thick with a Zemnian accent that painfully reminds him of Caleb. She walks to stand in front of Molly. “There are a few differences, such as the hair and tattoos, but everything else is uncanny.”

“I thought it was best to have you verify for certain,” Orthena agrees. “I trust your judgement, Astrid.”

Astrid inclines her head, a faint smile on her lips that fails to reach her cool gaze. “ _Ja,_ thank-you for alerting me of this, Lawmaster. It truly is fate that Archmage Ikithon sent myself and Widogast in his stead.”

Caleb’s in Zadash. That’s the best news that Molly’s had in two years. Tired of suddenly being ignored he speaks up, “What do you plan on doing to me?”

Astrid’s eyes slide down to appraise him much like one does when inspecting cattle for sale. “There are ways of extracting information from a unwilling individual. The level of pain involved is entirely up to your cooperation. I would hope that you would be agreeable.”

Her hands move in a fluid motion as she utters arcane words under her breath, dark eyes brightening to a pale blue as she shoves into his head and slips through his thoughts as easily as butter. When she attempts to push further, Molly growls and shoves back, forcing her out.

The spell drops and Astrid looks in Beau’s direction. “Monk, now would be a very good time for that little trick of your’s.”

Beau grunts and joins her. Her face is mostly indifferent, but Molly spots a spark of sympathy. “Nothing personal.”  With quick precision, her hand shoots out and jabs at the pressure points at his neck and head. “Ask your questions, Lawmaster.”

Unlike Astrid’s magical intrusion, Beau’s hits are less painful, but effective.

“Are you Lucian of Xhorhas?”

_An image of someone that looks like him but is not him flashes in Molly’s mind as a reflection in a bronze mirror. Long curls that reach the waist, layers elegant silks, and dark jewelry. The curls are cut off with a wickedly sharp dagger and the beautiful things removed with an air of practicality._

_The Nonagon someone calls him, a woman whose voice he swears he knows._

“Not currently,” Molly grits out against the compulsion to speak the truth.

“Can you describe Xhorhas for me?”

_Another image._

_Dry, barren landscape like those Yasha described to him. All the denizens living beneath the ground or in a tower A palace carved through rock and polished to shining silver. An ancient drow queen sitting on a throne, a crown of jutting spikes upon her pale head._

Automatically and in a daze, Molly speaks of what he sees.

“I think we have what we need, Lawmaster,” says Astrid, yanking him from the memories of another time, another him. “Unless you would like for me to examine him further?”

Orthena shakes her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. I can handle it from here.”

Astrid purses her lips. “Very well. If you have further need, feel free to send for me again.”

Beau’s looking at Molly curiously, then follows Astrid as they take their leave without any polite good-byes. Molly sags in the seat, exhausted and wishing he had Yasha with him. Well, it’s only a matter of time before she comes rushing in to rescue him. Maybe she can make sense of the memories(?).

“Now what?” he asks hoarsely. “Do you plan on killing me?”

“No, we aren’t barbarians,” Orthena corrects with surprise. “Maybe some would want to execute you because of your identity and where you come from, but I believe in justice and fair treatment. As far as I know, you’ve done nothing wrong. Most likely King Dwendal will want to trade you for the prisoners of Xhorhas.”

“And if that’s not what happens? Will they lock me away?”

Maybe he’s being rude, his tone just a touch to sharp, but he’s surpassed the threshold for politeness. His worst nightmare is coming true. Not just being called by a dead person’s name, but suffering the consequences of the actions of his body’s former occupant.

Who’s a fucking _prince._

Now he’s either going to be under lock and key or thrown to the wolves. Saying neither is a great fate is a understatement.

“For now,” Orthena interrupts his circling thoughts, “you’ll be free to roam the city so long as you don’t leave its walls. Under guard, of course, but no harm will come to you, your highness.”

Molly scowls. “Fantastic. Can I go now?”

“Go on.” She nods towards the crownsguard who has gone largely ignored throughout the ordeal. “This man will keep an eye on you tonight.”

Once the shackles are removed, Molly gives a theatrical bow and stomps out.

* * *

Yasha is still where they left her, leaning against a wall and doing an excellent job of looking intimidating as fuck. “You were gone awhile.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you alright? You look upset.”

Molly presses against her, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Apparently past me has decided to bite me in the ass.”

Yasha wraps her arm around him. “I’m sorry, Molly.”

“I know. I’ll...explain the situation when we’re alone, but for now we’re stuck in Zadash, and that’s our babysitter.” Molly thumbs over his shoulder at the crownsguard still following.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, let’s go. I can still use that bath. I’ve had enough of this day.” Reluctantly, Molly pulls away, and the two strangers in a strange land make for a hasty retreat, babysitter in tow.

Then he stops dead in his tracks in the middle of the street, two feet out the door.

There walking their direction is a familiar head of auburn hair and the most beautiful pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen that even at this distance he’s sure is there. He’s cleaner than Molly remembers, and his face is without a beard, but there’s no mistaking him for anyone else, especially in that coat.

_Caleb..._


	2. Ashes In My Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought he would be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeyy, thank-you so much for all the nice comments! I really appreciate it. This story is my child, and it helps knowing that others love it as much as I do<3
> 
> If any of you wanna come yell at me on other site, you can find me on tumblr as ophelia-markov or on twitter as midnightophelia. I'm awkward, but I'd love to talk with you guys~

Five years.

That’s how long he spent searching for a way to fix things. Two years to prepare for the task at hand. He’d grown powerful during those years, especially during the time spent with The Mighty Nein. He loved them like family. He’d relied on them, and supported them in their own tasks so that they would in turn do the same for him. Oh, they had for the most part, but in the end he’d betrayed their trust just like he always knew he would, and the only one left in the end had been Nott. It didn’t matter how terrible a person he was, she would always support him.

“This is worth the risk,” he’d told her, grasping her small hand in his larger one as tears ran down his dirt-covered face.

She’d nodded and smiled, but he could see the pain reflected in her yellow eyes that told him that even she could no longer see that as being the truth. Nonetheless, she did not voice her reservations, and he did not ask for them. He’s always been selfish. Five and two years would never change that.

And had it been worth it? All the pain and the sorrow? The hurt in Jester’s eyes? The disapproving tilt to Caduceus’ lips? Fjord’s anger? Beauregard’s wrath? He had thought so.

He’d saved his parents just like he’d planned to do. He’d saved them and sent them away, far away, so that no harm would come to them. When the day of graduation came, there’d be no one in the house to burn, but he’d done it anyway. Trent had been none the wiser, congratulating him for his good work.

So Caleb Widogast, one of the youngest and brightest of the Academy, achieves his goals and regains his life. There’s no Silent Years, no need to run on his own as a filthy and miserable beggar. He’s healthy, wealthy, and well employed by the Empire. He should be happy, but there’s a hollowness down in his soul that prevents him from enjoying the fruits of his labor.

He knows too much, now. He knows what the Empire is, how deep Trent’s motives go. No good deed in Caleb’s life is going to make him forget what his mentor has and had done.

But Caleb is a deeply patient man, he can bide his time and bite his tongue, he can smile and pretend that he’s the loyal Empire denizen everyone thinks him to be. He can play this long game.

Sixteen years go by and he’s thirty-three again. In the year it all begun.

* * *

  _24th of Sydenstar 335 P.D._

He’s on his way to the King’s Hall when he runs into Astrid.

“There you are,” she greets him, her smile tight as a bow string. “I expected you to arrive sooner.”

“I apologize, Astrid. I was delayed at the tower.” Caleb’s mouth mechanically forms a return smile. “Did you still need me?”

Astrid sighs and crosses her arms. “Not now. The Lawmaster is handling the situation from here herself it seems.”

“And what was it about?”

“Here, walk with me while we discuss this.” Astrid switches to Zemnian as naturally as breathing. “No doubt that you’ve heard the rumors of the missing Krynn prince, yes?”

“Yes, I have.”

It was quite the surprise to learn that the prince’s name was Lucian, and that his description matched that of Mollymauk’s. At first, Caleb had considered seeking out and warning him out of old habits, but he’d held back upon remembering that the Mollymauk of this particular timeline would have no idea who Caleb was.

“He was caught entering Zadash and brought to the King’s Hall for questioning,” Astrid says, unaware of Caleb’s thoughts. “It seems it is indeed him.”

Caleb nods, nervously swallowing.

Mollymauk is in Zadash. He’s in Zadash and he is royalty. Caleb’s pulse quickens. Should he help him, or should he continue to play his part? There are pros and cons to either choice, but why does it matter so much? He has not seen him in years, not since his death at the hands of Lorenzo. Caleb barely knew him. He should not care so much what happens.

But it does.

“What will be done with him?”

Astrid stops and gives Caleb a considering look, like he is a specimen under a magnifying glass for her to examine. “I have no idea. Stonegrasp will be fair about it, as she always is. Although, I may have a suggestion or two about dealing with the creature.”

Mollymauk is not there to care, but Caleb finds himself jumping to his defense all the same. “I wish you would not talk that way.”

Astrid’s brow lifts. “Like how? Do you really care so much what I refer to a demon-blooded prince of Xhorhas as?

“Good-bye, Astrid.” Caleb leaves her there, staring at his back as he makes his way towards the King’s Hall. Arguing about this with Astrid will result in nothing. She’s far too stuck in her own bias to listen to any sense he makes. He may have once agreed, but those days are long past him.

Caleb is stuck in his own head again when he wades his way through the crowd and spots a shock of purple and red, and despite himself he freezes just long enough for those blood-colored eyes to land on him.

Mollymauk’s stare widens and quickly looks away, turning his attention back to Yasha at his side.

“Good to see you, friend,” Caleb murmurs under his breath, still in his own tongue.

He urges his feet forward and avoids looking too closely at his former companion as they pass close enough that they brush shoulders. He feels something touch the pocket of his coat, but Caleb does not relax until he has reached the doors of the Hall, and only then does he slip his hand inside.

His fingers slide against the edge of a card that had not been there before. Heart skipping, Caleb pulls it out and, in the light of the fading sun, stares at the symbol of The Moon emblazoned upon a violet backdrop framed in gold.

Trembling, he reaches into his component pouch.

“Mollymauk,” he says through Sending, “meet me at the first inn we stayed at here. Explain.”

There is a brief pause, and Mollymauk’s lilting voice comes soaring through his head. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

As the spells fades, Caleb looks to the sky.

This shouldn’t be possible.

* * *

It takes the better part of two hours before Caleb musters up the courage to make the trip to The Leaky Tap. A flood of memories come rushing into his head as he stands outside the door, staring up at the weathered sign. Laughing faces and camaraderie, Jester’s gentle teasing and Fjord’s quite laughter, Beauregard’s awkward flirting with Yasha, Nott attempting to pickpocket strangers and Caduceus’ soft smiles. Caleb nearly forgets that this is a different time, his former friends scattered to the four winds without ever knowing him.

He blinks the images away and drags himself back to the here and now.

Mollymauk is easy to find once Caleb actually enters the building. He’s at a far table by himself, drinking from a flagon and gives a wave once he sees Caleb.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says once Caleb joins him, awkwardly slipping into the chair sitting across from his. He traces the edge of his drink in slow circles, his lazy posture cluing in to how many cups he’s in. “It’s been awhile. Longer for you I imagine.”

“How do you even know me?” Caleb hisses, leaning forward over the table. “No one should have any idea who I am.”

“I’m just full of surprises.” Molly shrugs, and the good humor is gone. “It’s complicated, but honestly you should be the one explaining. You’re the one who’s fucking with time, not me.”

Caleb can see that Mollymauk, while mostly the same, has something _different_ about him. It is not just that his hair is longer, falling past his shoulders in loose curls and that feathers on his neck and face are just a little bit off. His eyes are tired, ringed in purple darker than his skin.

“Mollymauk, please,” he says, the bite leaving his tone. He’s tired, too. He has been tired for a long time. “Tell me.”

“Oh, fine.” Molly takes a liberal swig of his ale. “When I died I was ever so lucky to be met by the Matron of Ravens’ champion -he’s lovely by the way- and was told that I needed to come back, something about it not being my time yet. I’m not sure what he meant by that. Death is a lot.” Another sip. “I woke up two years ago in my very first grave with all my memories of my nebulous future intact.”

Caleb frowns. “That does not tell me how you thought to contact me, how you knew.”

“Well, I was kindly informed by Vax’ildan that you went back. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember or not.”

“Why? Gods, even their envoy, do not just resurrect people and send them back in time.” There has to be more to this.

Something like guilt briefly dances across Mollymauk’s face. “I have no idea. I guess he told me about you so that I wouldn’t be as alone. So that I could talk to you.”

“You shouldn’t. I am not the same person that you knew before.” And Mollymauk had barely known him at all, not like the others had before the end, before he had tossed his soul through time and to this place created by his actions.

Infinite possibilities he’d seen in the Beacon, infinite timelines like strings hanging from a tree.

Mollymauk raises an eyebrow, eyes sliding over Caleb’s face. “You don’t seem all that different so far. Besides, you aren’t the only one that’s different. I died twice.”

Caleb flags down a barmaid and pays her a gold for an ale. “I noticed. You are royalty.”

Mollymauk scowls, flashing a bit of fang. “Yeah, apparently. I can’t even run away from this place. The Lawmaster has eyes on me.”

Sympathy surges through Caleb. The Empire is not a kind place to anyone, let alone a tiefling with ties to an enemy country. If it becomes a publicly known fact, it will only get worse for him. “I could speak to someone on your behalf. If you would like.”

The words leave him before he can stop them from pouring out.

Mollymauk perks up, his tail twitching like a cautious cat’s. “Could you?”

“Ah, well. I could try. I am in line to become an archmage. I am sure that someone will listen to what I have to say.” Caleb gives him a wry smile.

“My, haven’t we gone up in the world. A prince and an archmage. Would our friends ever believe us?” Mollymauk giggles. “Yasha was surprised when I told her.”

“Oh, _Ja._ Very unbelievable.” It’s so simple to fall into old familiar patterns. He missed it. Besides Nott, he has hardly the opportunity for casual conversation without the looming spectre of duty. “And where is Yasha?”

“I, uh, told her that I needed some time to myself. She was very understanding.” Mollymauk lowers his gaze. “I wish I could tell her everything, but I have these bloody rules to follow. No one can know who wouldn’t already know. Which leaves you.”

“I am sorry, Mollymauk.”

Mollymauk looks up again at his name, squinting. “And since we’re there, what did you change? It must have been pretty damn important.”

And there it is, the elephant in the room.

“To me, it was. I saved my parents.”

“Oh.” Mollymauk sits up, looking past Caleb. “You’re back?”

Yasha appears at the table, looming over both of them. She gives a inquiring glace at Caleb. “Who is this?”

That’s one way to end a topic.

“Caleb Widogast,” says Mollymauk with a clumsy flourish, “meet my best friend Yasha.”

Yasha nods arms crossed. “Molly, are you drunk?”

Mollymauk tips his remaining ale back into his mouth, and wipes away the foam. “Maybe a little. Dear Mr. Caleb here was just telling me that he’s here to help me with my problem.”

“Is he?” Yasha is far more intimidating when you’re the one who might be sliced in half.

Caleb smiles warily and swallows back his apprehension. “ _Ja,_ I intend on doing what I can.”

Yasha stares down at him. “Why?”

“Because as far as I can tell, Mollymauk has done nothing wrong,” Caleb tells her. “His place of birth is not a fault of his, and he should not be punished for it.” Mollymauk has done plenty of illegal things, but Caleb is not about to be the pot calling the kettle black. “I make no guarantees, but I have ideas.”

Mollymauk grins. “See? He’s a good guy.”

Yasha’s broad shoulders relax and she pulls a seat up, scooting is closer to Mollymauk’s side. “Okay, that’s good enough for me. I will trust him. For now.”

 _You may not feel that way if you knew everything._ He’s still a garbage person. No fresh starts can change what is fundamentally true.

Potential danger passed, Yasha’s full attention turns to Mollymauk. “How many of these have you had?”

“Too many,” admits Mollymauk with a smirk. “I needed it.”

Yasha’s eyes drift  to Caleb. “What did you intend on doing to help Molly?”

Caleb carefully considers the question. There’s only three people he could go to for this, but he is automatically ruling out one of them. “I have a friend. Astrid. She has connections everywhere. I could use those connections of hers to, er, blackmail the Lawmaster perhaps.”

It might not be useful. Orentha is a kind and fair person so far as the law goes. There may not even be anything to blackmail her with.

The good mood on Molly’s face sours again as he scowls Caleb’s way. “You don’t happen to mean the short-haired mage woman do you?” His tail thrashes, nearly tripping a tavern patron. “No offense, dear, but she didn’t seem all that eager to help me when she was digging through my brain.”

Oh. “She is not always so bad.”

Astrid had once been a sweet girl, always friendly and outgoing, wanting to help her friends in all the ways she could. Jester had reminded him so much of her, how she used to be; a beacon of levity and joy to his serious and studious nature. Even quiet Eodwulf was no match for Astrid’s infectious energy.

Like most things, however, those things changed after they graduated, probably even before that. Astrid had closed off, become colder, as Trent sharpened her into a fine, dagger-like point, and sent her on frequent solo missions to either take out threats or gather information. She’d hardly been recognizable to the girl Caleb once loved.

Mollymauk’s grumpy huff drags Caleb back to the present.

“Sorry if I find that all a little hard to believe.”

“ _Nein,_ no. I do not blame you.” How could he? “If you would rather I find a different method?”

Mollymauk waves a dismissive hand. “Go ahead and ask. Can’t hurt none.” He stand up, sways for a moment, then leans against Yasha. “With that, I’m going to bed. If you need me it’s not like I’ll be far away.”

Caleb lets out a long, tired breath as Mollymauk and Yasha disappear upstairs, leaving him alone in a bustling tavern. He snaps his fingers and Frumpkin appears on his shoulder, purring away. “I am not sure what to do, friend.”

Everything has gotten so very complicated.

* * *

_25th of Sydenstar 335 P.D._

 In his defense, Caleb does try and get Astrid to agree to his request.

He finds her the next day at the Archive as she’s pouring over old books on Xhorhas with Beauregard hovering not far away, looking only moderately interested in what the tome holds.

“I’m not sure why you’re feeling so charitable towards the Xhorhasian,” Astrid says to him in their tongue, turning a page with a fingertip. “But you are too late either way. I’ve already spoken to Master Ikithon regarding him, and he intends on speaking to the rest of the Archmages and King Dwendal. It’s out of my hands.”

Caleb shapes his expression to be as neutral as he can to hide his simmering anger. Of course she has already gone along with her own plans. He should not have expected anything less.

“Why did you not tell me that you’ve already interrogated Lucian?” The name is wrong coming from his mouth. “Did you not trust me?”

Astrid stops. “You knew that the Lawmaster requested me. I only did as told to do. As you should as well.”

“Why specifically you?” Does he want this answer?

“Because I have had _dealings_ with him in the past. I was the only one who could truly verify.” Astrid looks up at him, eyes narrowed. “Does it really matter so much?”

Astrid knew Lucian. That’s news to Caleb. “I need to be informed, Astrid. Master Ikithon expects me to be. You, Eodwulf, and I are a team. We do not go behind each others backs.”

_Liar._

“Do remember that Master Ikithon has me doing things for him as well, Widogast. You may be his right hand, but I am the knife and Eodwulf is the shield. We have our own duties outside of you.”

That is the last Caleb sees of her for two days, not until the third does he find out why.

* * *

_28th of Sydenstar 335 P.D._

"He wants me to do what?” Caleb’s grip on his teacup is dangerously close to breaking the handle, knuckles white. “What made anyone believe that that is a good idea?”

Eodwulf grimaces. “Master Ikithon has spoken with Lord Uladan and have already brought it up with His Majesty. They do not trust the prince to not give valuable information to the crick queen. He needs a leash.”

The teacup breaks, dropping ceramic shards and tea onto the table. “Why me?”

“You’re unmarried, powerful, and in your prime. Not to mention ready to take up Master Ikithon’s position. He trusts your judgement and capability to keep the prince under your thumb.” Eodwulf leans away from Caleb’s fury. “You do know that those are all very good qualities.”

Caleb clenches his jaw, flames licking his fingers. “I do not want this.”

Eodwulf eyes the dancing red and white flames like he will be the target of their burning heat. “You have no choice. The king agreed. We’re at the brink of war, Caleb. This is the tipping point. He would avoid it, and Prince Lucian makes for a pretty hostage.”

“I am not sure it will be enough.” Caleb has seen the dark clouds forming over Xhorhas for himself, and he knows what the war would bring. Using Mollymauk to halt it will accomplish nothing.  The Krynn have no attachment to their male heirs, and only their pride would push them forward. There’s no bargain to be made.

“Either way, what Master Ikithon has suggested is what will be done.” Eodwulf smiles, an attempt to assuage the growing tension between them. “Marriage isn’t so bad. You out of everyone can make this whole thing work.”

Caleb watches the way the light dances off of Eodwulf’s wedding ring. “You and Astrid chose each other. I and the prince-” he avoids using the other name-” are being forced into something neither of us wants. I would make for a poor husband.”

He carries far too many secrets, about the future and about himself. Mollymauk doesn’t deserve to have those dangers thrown his way, and there is no way that he’d want Caleb. Not before and certainly not now.

“You think too little of yourself. If you’re worried about…”

“Yes, that and other things.” Just one thing on the list. “I trust that you have not told anyone?”

Eodwulf shakes his dark head. “No, I haven’t. Not a word to anyone.”

“Not even Astrid.”

“Especially not Astrid.”

“Good.” Caleb stands up. “Keep it that way. Or Gods know what will happen.”

He is not looking forward to Mollymauk’s reaction to their impending nuptials, but it’s better that he hears it from Caleb first rather than the Lawmaster or, Gods forbid, Astrid.

He’s going to need a drink.


	3. Proposals of the Unexpected Sort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I didn't get this up sooner, but a couple of bad brain days and a cold don't really help in the writing process. I'll try and get the next one up quicker D:

Planting the card into Caleb’s pocket had been on a whim, but Molly knew that running to Caleb in the middle of a crowded street under the assumption that he might be recognized could potentially go poorly if he didn’t, especially with a guard following him. Ultimately, the card had been the best choice to signal some form of familiarity.

The Moon was the very first card that he’d pulled for Jester, something they all witnessed, and, in the worst case scenario should he not recall it, Caleb just found a strange card and tossed it away. Molly, of course, had his fingers crossed that Caleb’s memories would be intact. It would save him some trouble.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for confirmation as Caleb’s Zemnian tinged voice came echoing in his head with the instructions to meet him at The Leaky Tap. Fantastic. Easily done.

Feeling better, Molly agreed and quickly b-lined it to the bathhouse, getting a private room for himself and Yasha to be able to talk without one of the Empire’s best and brightest staring him down from a distance.

“So you’re Xhorhasian, then,” Yasha murmurs as she helps Molly wash his hair, carefully and expertly detangling the curls that he’d let grow out past his shoulders.

He’d explained everything to her, what he could anyway. The images in his head are difficult to decipher.

“I suppose that I am,” he sighs, eyes closed and body relaxing at her gentle motions against his scalp. “Or I was. I dunno what to consider myself now. I’d been perfectly happy to just be a simple vagabond traveling with a bunch of fellow weirdos. Fate sure has terrible timing.”

With the exception of the the Cree incident, he’d spent the last time skillfully avoiding Lucian. He should have guessed that he’d run out of luck eventually.

“You are whatever you want to be,” says Yasha. “But if you want my help I’m happy to teach you about Xhorhas. I do not know much about the Kyrnn, though.”

“That’s alright. I’ll take what I can get. If I survive this mess.”

* * *

The Leaky Tap’s easy to find, its location easily remembered after so much time spent there.

Coin is worryingly thin without having the gnolls of Alfield to fill his purse, and he winces as he pays for their room. While he’s not one to typically worry about funds, that purse is light even by his standards. That’s not to say that that’s going to stop him from getting good and drunk. He’s earned it after all of this bullshit, and, okay, he’s a wee bit nervous to meet with Caleb.

Would he be the same man that Molly knew before?

“Molly, you look pale,” Yasha, ever helpful, points out as he sips from his first mug of subpar ale. “Are you sure that you’re alright?”

“Just decompressing.” Not untrue. He’s weary to the bone, but sleep and what it might bring is decidedly unappealing right now. “Hey, um, Yash, I hate to ask this, but can you give me a little alone time? I’m not going to be exceedingly fun to be around for a bit.”

Yasha gives him a look, a look that he’s pretty familiar with, one that says that she’s half-tempted to knock him out and force him to sleep off what’s quickly becoming a downward spiral. Instead of tough love violence, she takes a gentler approach and gives him a small kiss on the cheek.

“Okay,” she replies, “Go to bed if you need to. I will be back soon.”

Once she’s gone and no longer supervising his poor coping habits, Molly’s drinking turns into a fuzzy buzz and then foggy drunkenness. He lounges in his chair, staring intently at the door as the chatter of the tavern washes over him, and lets his mind wander, naturally, to Caleb.

Even before coming back to life in this upside down timeline of events, Molly’d been ever curious about the wizard that did a fabulous job at fascinating and confusing him in equal measure.  Caleb was beautiful in his own way with his Zemni features and sharp intellect, and the moments of dry wit hidden beneath the thick layer of nervousness only further elevated his appeal.

And, yes, made Molly yearn to help him move past his insecurities.

But the unhealthy dependence on Nott, the obvious self-loathing, and whatever else was going on in that sexy little head of his had made Molly hesitant to open that particular bag of cats. He was definitely attracted to him (everyone was pretty damn hot to be fair), but pursuing someone who may not be in the right mind to consent to a fun roll in the sheets to blow off steam isn’t Molly’s thing. He’d been totally fine just helping him out where he could, and, if something happened, well, there’d been time for that later.

There hadn’t been since he’d then died shortly after and ended up here with no idea what he’d be dealing with. Vax’ildan hadn’t exactly been helpful.

As if on cue, Caleb comes walking through the door to help answer that question. He sits down across from him, and they talk. They spend an hour in conversation, both learning a little about what the other’s been through. Not much, but progress.

Caleb is, as usual, difficult to read. His freckled face is like a block of granite with only the slightest bit of reaction to Molly’s words in his eyes, and what he does say is vague enough to give only the barest hint of a clue to what he’s been doing for the last so many years.

He’s nearly an archmage, he reveals, and offers to help with the current predicament, which is surprising to say the least.

When Yasha turns up the pleasantness comes to a close, not because of her, but because of Molly’s temper spurned by stress and alcohol flowing through his blood. Alright, maybe drinking before this meeting was a bad idea.

He goes to bed bitter, drunk, and, even with Yasha there, _lonely._

He’d thought that with Caleb he’d have someone to share this whole crazy experience with, but clearly things are different in more ways than he’s comfortable with.

When he does eventually fall into a restless sleep, he dreams of his friends, and of an impossibly large, porcelain-faced woman with long dark hair.

* * *

_28th of Sydenstar 335 PD_

Molly spends the next few days in a stupor, occasionally leaving the room for food and to appease Yasha’s growing concern over his well being.  She gives him space, but she’s never too far away. His gut tells him that he’s depressed, he’s witnessed it in others and in himself when he’d come back the first time without memories or a voice. He just doesn’t know how to deal with it.

That’s when Caleb decides to make a return visit.

“How’s Mollymauk?” he hears him ask Yasha in the hall outside of their room.

“Not well,” she tells him firmly. “He’s been off for days.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Molly can picture the thoughts marching through Caleb’s brain before he speaks again. “I am sorry to hear that. I am even more sorry to have to bring him more bad news. Could I speak with him alone?”

“I’ll be out here.” A threat as much as a statement.

“Mollymauk?” Caleb comes in, shutting the door softly behind him. “I just need to speak with you for a moment, then I’ll leave.”

Molly sits up from where he’d been previously laying on his side and staunchly pretends to not have been eavesdropping. “Yeah that’s fine. What’s wrong?”

Caleb’s body language has always been a little on the tense side, like he was waiting for any excuse to go bolting in the opposite direction, but he looks wound tighter than a bow string as he shuffles over to the bed. “I didn’t wish to bother you.”

“I’m sure. Please, sit.” Molly offers him a tired smile. “What brings you here to my humble abode?”

Caleb swallows and mechanically sits down a foot away. “I spoke with Astrid.” At Molly’s scowl he holds up a hand. “I know, you’ve made your feelings quite clear, Mollymauk, but it needed to be done.”

“She needs to work on her manners.”

“Er, _ja,_ I do not disagree,” Caleb says. “But she has spoken to a higher-up, who then got in contact with me through another mutual acquaintance-”

“Sorry to interrupt, but is this going somewhere?”

“-that has given me an update on the situation,” Caleb rambles on, either out of characteristic nervousness or just outright ignoring Molly’s words. “The king is not comfortable letting you roam free, and it was suggested to him that you...marry...someone loyal to the Crown in order to assure that you do not spill anything to the enemy.”

Molly’s mouth falls open. “Who?”

Caleb stares down at his lap. “Me.”

“No offense, dear, but I’m not the marrying sort, and you seem equally unhappy with the idea of it. Is there anything that can be done?”

Caleb’s face says no, and Molly’s mind rolls over the possible pros and cons to this newest bout of fuckery in his life.

_The pros are easy. Caleb’s pretty, probably rich being a mage under the Crown, I’d be closer in order to do what I’ve been sent here to do in the first place. Overall, not a terrible thing even if the idea of being tied down to one place makes me break out in hives._

The cons are minor in light of his larger quest, but no less important to take into consideration.

_The aforementioned tied down thing, being essentially a prisoner of the Empire, neither me nor Caleb actually wanting to be married. Those are...still pretty big things._

Caleb sighs, sounding as bone-weary as Molly feels. “If there was a better option to give, I would have done so. I believe that the others would involve a more literal prison, or death.”

That’s a fair argument. “When?”

“I do not know. As of right now, that is all of the information available to me.” Caleb runs a hand through his hair. “I thought it best that you heard all of this from me rather than Astrid or the Lawmaster,” he says, “and I want to clarify that, should this come to pass, I would never force myself on you. You would still have all of the freedom that I can give, and what I have would be yours.”

That’s not terrible. “So, this would only be technically a marriage?”

“ _Ja._ You are not my captive. No matter what others may think.”

Molly lets himself smile for the first time in days. Maybe this could work if Caleb does what he says he will and allows him to do what he pleases. “And what about Xhorhas? Would they agree to this? Seeing as I’m their prince?”

“That is more difficult to say. Xhorhas is a matriarchal society, which tends to mean that they favor their female heirs over the male. Current standing theory is that they will leave you be since you would not be viable for their throne.”

Good to know. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

“I will. I don’t see any better ideas showing up at my door.” Molly sticks a hand out. “Shake on it?”

Caleb hesitates, then takes it with the lightest of grips. “A deal it is, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

Molly gives it a solid shake. “Look, Caleb, I’m sorry for the way I left the other day. I shouldn’t have been so short with you. It was rude of me.”

“ _Nein,_ no, do not apologize.” Caleb lowers their still conjoined hands. “You have been through a lot. I will make no further excuses for Astrid’s mistreatment. She should not have been so…”

“Invasive?” Molly offers, Caleb’s hand soft and cool against his calloused fingers. It’s a wonder that he’s not pulled away yet. Maybe he forgot.   

“ _Ja,_ invasive. There are ways to do things that does not harm the person.”

“That’s fair.” Molly ventures forward. “Hey, so can I make a small request? It’s not anything that you’ve done, but it would make me feel a bit more comfortable.”

“What is it?”

“Can you tell people to stop calling me Lucian? Just because I’m forced to acknowledge him, doesn’t mean I want that name.”

Caleb nods. “I will.”

Molly wants to continue the conversation, but all good things have to come to an end eventually. There’s a high-pitched whine that fills the air, loud even at this distance, and coming from the direction of the Zauber Spire. Caleb jumps to his feet, their hands parting, and stares at the window with eyes glowing blue with power.

“ _Scheiße_ ,” he growls.

“Was that what I think it was?”

“I would say so.” Caleb turns on his booted heel and marches towards the door. “The others will be expecting me to be there.”

“Do you need any help?”

“Stay here. Running out there now will only make them suspicious of you,” he orders, stepping around Yasha as she comes rushing in. “Please, be careful. Both of you.”

Molly sinks to the bed. There’s no Mighty Nein to go into the sewers and fight a Kyrnn oppertive, this time. Does that change anything? If so, how much? What about the dodecahedron?

“What’s going on?” Yasha asks him, looking for some kind of answer.

“I dunno,” Molly lies. “Caleb’s going to find out.”

And hopefully staying in one piece.

* * *

_29th of Sydenstar 335 P.D._

It’s odd to be sitting in The Leaky Tap while knowing what he does. How many other events will change because the Mighty Nein aren’t around? How many will stay the same? What are Nott, Jester, and Fjord doing? Are they happy?

He may never know.

 _This is why she sent you back._ Only he and Caleb know, and only they can fix it, which means that some hard questions are going to need to be asked. How long had Caleb spent with their group before turning back time? So far his husband-to-be hasn’t said anything about it without a veil of secrecy.

It would probably help if Caleb wasn’t out dealing with the fallout of last night.

Molly makes a face at his current set of Crownsguard babysitters hanging about not far from where he is.

Ivan, a dour man possessing all of the joy of someone passing a kidney stone, is the first guard sent to follow him around, and the other is Alice, whose company is far preferable seeing as she knows how to actually smile and provide conversation that’s comprised of more than just annoyed grunting and insults.  

“The Lawmaster would like a word with you this evening regarding...certain events,” Alice informs Molly with the nicest smile she can considering the circumstances that brings them together. “Master Widogast vouches for your whereabouts last night, but anything you can say about the Xhorhasians would be most appreciated.”

“Not much I can say seeing as I have no memory of being Lucian, not enough to be helpful.”

Ivan groans. “He’s obviously lying.”

Alice rolls her eyes. “Ignore him. Everyone else does.”

Molly snorts. “I intend to.” He thoughtfully chews on a piece of bacon while Ivan glares daggers at him. It’s times like these that he really misses Beau and all of her bluntness. Unfortunate, really. “Honestly, though. There’s nothing I can say that’s even remotely helpful. I was in my room last night, minding my own business.”

“Ah,” Alice says, shifting in her armor. “I figured as much. We were hoping that you may know something. I'm certain that you’ve heard by now that the High Ricktor was killed by one of the intruders. Lawmaster Stonegrasp is feared to be the next target, and everyone hoped that since you’re from Xhorhas…”

“Yeah, sorry. I don’t know anything.”

The Knights of Requital got what they wanted after all, regardless of everything that’s changed. He’s not terribly upset by the Ricktor’s passing, what with her sending innocent people to the Umbar Dungeons for no other reasons than her own biased nature, but murder is still murder.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. You’ll still need to come with us to, though. For other reasons.”

Molly sighs. Right. The wedding. “Fine, I’m coming. Might as well get this out of the way.”

* * *

To Molly’s total lack of surprise, Caleb’s outside the King’s Hall when they arrive, looking grim-faced and exhausted. Beside him is Astrid with her cool, steely gaze, and another man that Molly doesn’t recognize with shoulder-length black hair, blue robes, lively blue eyes, and a dusting of freckles much like Caleb’s. Also, he looks like he could snap molly in two. It's unsettling.

“Mollymauk, this is Eodwulf,” Caleb says as way of greeting, gesturing towards the tall stranger.

Eodwulf smiles and politely inclines his head. “Nice to finally meet you. The Lawmaster is expecting us.”

Caleb meets Molly’s eyes for a beat, then turns, his robes flaring dramatically up around his legs with his motion, as his companions follow suit. Molly trails after them at a slower pace, staring holes into Caleb’s back.

“Nice to see you again, your Highness,” Orentha says as they come into her office, her attention fixed onto Molly the moment he’s through the door. “I wish the circumstances where better.”

“Yeah, so do. Alice told me.”

Orentha sits down, looking just as worn as everyone else does. “Indeed?”

“There’s nothing I know that can even pass as helpful. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, Widogast told me that might be the case.” Orentha briefly looks to Caleb who nods. “He also told me that you’ve been updated regarding your situation?”

“About the marriage thing? Yeah, he did and I agreed to it.”

Orentha taps her fingers against her desk. “That makes things easier, I suppose.”

“I’m sure. Just don’t expect me to be able to pay for much of anything. The circus didn’t really provide much wealth,” Molly says sardonically. “And I really highly doubt that the Kyrnn are going to send over a dowry.”

“The Crown is paying for the wedding expenses,” Caleb chimes in. “I will pay for some out of pocket and be reimbursed for it.”

“Oh, alright.”

“Yes, it is very generous of the King to do.” Astrid steps forward. “Eodwulf, you had an idea on when this wedding is taking place, _ja?”_

Eodwulf clears his throat, straightening his robes as he joins her. “Master Ikithon made the recommendation for Harvest’s Close. A bit soon perhaps, but the sooner the better to prevent any issues.”

“I agree,” says Orentha. “The public would be able to attend as well. Help take their minds off of the attacks.”

“It’s settled then?” Astrid asks. “Already?”

“I would say so. Harvest’s Close in five days.”

Five days. He’s getting married in five days. Is it too late for him to change his mind? Caleb’s expression makes Molly think he’s thinking the same thing.

 _We’re in this together now, Caleb. No regrets?_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank-you for all the lovely comments❤


	4. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a very good chance that Caleb might have a small problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Surprise new update (and a better summary)! I'm gonna start trying to update either every or every other week. Chap. five is already finished (clocking in over four thousand words) I'm a thousand words into ch. Six which is probably a good sign.
> 
> I don't know how long I'll be able to keep this psce up, but I'm gonna try👍

Caleb leaves the King’s Hall long after Molly has made a hasty escape, Astrid and Eodwulf trailing along with him.

“That went better than expected,” Eodwulf cheerfully says, catching up beside Caleb. “I would have assumed that he’d put up a bit more of a fuss. Or you would have.”

Caleb stops and gives him a sideyed glance. “Fighting against orders at this point would be useless and a waste of mine and everyone else’ time, I believe.” He chooses his words carefully, hides his true thoughts behind a mask of loyalty. “You know that I did not initially like this idea, but the more I considered it, the more it made sense.”

Playing into their expectations is more of the strategic move when it comes to them. It’s safer in the long run. He’s been out of step since Molly’s return into his life, stumbling at this unforeseen circumstance falling into his already complicated life. He needs to right himself and calculate these changes as if nothing has gone wrong. The Matron has never been too pleased with those that meddle with the natural order of things, and he is fairly sure that she brought back Mollymauk to prove as much to him.

“ _Now_ he’s being agreeable,” Astrid drawls. “I thought you were having second guesses about Master Ikithon’s judgement. Good to know that you are not a complete loss, _Widogast.”_

She says the name like the secret it is, a remnant of a future that will not come to pass. Astrid has no idea why he chose that name in particular the day he burned an empty house to the ground and took up a “new” identity, but it’s enough for her to give the occasional dig for weakness.

“Not quite yet,” Caleb replies, thinking of that future. “I only wonder what he is not telling us.”

He has some ideas, ones that he keeps close to his chest.

“Master Ikithon’s ways are mysterious and it is not for us to question his plans.”

It never was. Trent’s ways are not nearly as enigmatic as they’re made out to be.

“Sometimes it is complicated, my love.” Eodwulf presses a kiss to her cheek as she scowls. “No one is perfect, not even him. Caleb is not so terrible for wondering.”

Caleb averts his eyes from the couple, an ache in his chest as he mumbles, more to himself than for their benefit, “I should start preparing for this wedding. I would have liked a bit more time than I was given.”

When he walks away, they’re so caught up in each other that they hardly notice that he’s left at all.

* * *

Caleb finds Nott sifting through his cabinets when he arrives at his temporary home, her dark eyes widening in surprise with her hand shoved halfway into his stash of biscuits. She jumps down off the counter she’s perched on, but not before achieving her objective.

“Sorry, I didn’t know when you’d be back,” she tells him, padding over as he discards his boots and coat by the door.

“That is perfectly fine. How has everything been, Veth?” It had been so difficult to make the switch from one name to the other, but he’s a quick learner. “The trip was not so difficult?”

Nott, or rather Veth, grins up at him with her slightly crooked teeth. “Luke’s doing wonderfully, and the apothecary is running as smoothly as the journey here was.”

Caleb smiles and nods, leading her to his sitting room where two chairs are already set up. It takes a flick of his fingers to send a bolt of fire into the empty hearth and set the flames dancing merrily. As he settles into one of the open chairs, he observes her halfling appearance with its softness of both nature and motherhood, braids at either side of her freckled face.

Seeking Nott out in this lifetime had been a risk, but one worth taking if it meant preventing her from the unhappiness that would have otherwise been her life in the shape of a goblin.

It’s the least he could do after everything they’d been through together.

Veth had been so confused about his generosity towards a total stranger, but once the distrust had faded she had offered up anything she could to repay him. He’d protested, but she was always stubborn, and he’d given into her like he always does.

“Very good to hear.” He snaps his fingers and Frumpin appears in his lap, already purring. “I am glad.”

Nott takes a seat in the chair’s twin. “I’ve taken your advice, Caleb, and looked into things regarding you-know-what.”

“Anything?” Caleb’s mind flashes back to the hidden room beneath a burned down building and the fear in her eyes. “Please tell me that you were careful.”

“Of course I was,” she huffs, mildly offended that he’d question her spy skills. “There wasn’t a whole lot to find, to be honest. They’re very cautious about the whole thing. It’s annoying. They’re definitely up to something, though. Yeza keeps trying to calm my nerves, but I know better. Silly man.”

No doubt about that, Caleb gloomily thinks. There’s so many things to consider and to be done, and he can hardly find a moment to breathe. The Dunamancy, Trent, Astrid, Eodwulf, the war, the Krynn, Mollymauk. He’s over his head with all of this, but who could he tell? Not even Nott knows how deeply it all goes.

 _You could always tell him about it,_ his mind helpfully reminds him. No, he really can’t. The more people know, the more it puts them all at risk. Mollymauk is innocent in all of this, and this sham of a marriage is going to put a wrench in all of his plans if he is not careful, and he _needs_ to be careful.

Speaking of.

“I do have news for you,” says Caleb, changing the subject. “My superiors have decided that I have a need to be married.”

“What?” Nott’s eyes go wide. “How? When?”

“To a Krynn prince who just so happens to be an amnesiac that wants nothing to do with any of this, either.”

“Why though? We’re this close to a war with the Kyrnn? Is this a peace treaty?”

Caleb sighs. “In a manner. Mostly they do not want to risk him acting as a spy for the Kyrnn should he go back, and marriage was the path to least bloodshed in the Crown’s eyes. Since I am due to be taking up Trent’s position, they thought I would be the best candidate.”

“Oh.” She slumps a bit in her seat, sweets forgotten on her lap. “So when is this happening?”

“On Harvest’s Close,” he laments, stroking Frumpkin’s soft fur. “Rest assured that there will be no romantics involved. Just practicality.”

“What if he tries to kill you in your sleep?”

Caleb snorts. “Highly unlikely. As I said, he wants nothing to do with the Krynn.”

Nott looks unconvinced. “If you’re sure.”

He does his best to give her a reassuring smile. He’s not sure that it works. “I am pretty good at protecting myself, Veth.”

“I know you are.” She finally begins to eat the biscuit, nibbling at it thoughtfully. “At least you won’t be alone anymore. I worry about you sometimes. You work so much, and I can’t be here all the time. I’ve got Yeza and Luke.”

Caleb sets Frumpkin down and goes to sit at Nott’s feet, taking her small hand into his and giving it a squeeze. “You should always take care of them first. Dangerous days are coming and those two will need you more than anyone. I could and never would expect you to sacrifice them for a tired old wizard like me.”

He is not a scared little boy in a jail cell. Not anymore.

“This prince better be good to you. I’ll never forgive him if he’s not.”

“I am sure that he will try to be.”

That’s all that can be said.

* * *

Nott stays the night in his spare bedroom, and once he knows that she’s sound asleep, only then does Caleb open up the loose floorboard under his bed and pull out the lead box.

With shaking fingers he undoes the arcane lock and opens it as cautiously as a thief. Inside a familiar multi-sided object silently greets him, looking ever like the mystery it is. Caleb scarcely breathes as he reaches in and carefully removes it from its resting place. He shouldn’t be messing with it, knowing what he does. If he were to be caught with it in his care he’d be a dead man; Trent would kill him before anyone else ever got the chance to do it.

Still, it’s one less Beacon in the hands of the Empire. He’d made sure that no one knew that he’d taken it, every precaution in place should the Kyrnn come for it, which they had and only found a cleverly created illusion in its place.

Sure that it's safe for now, Caleb silently puts it back.

* * *

_30th of Sydenstar 335 P.D._

“Hey, Caleb,” Mollymauk’s voice carries through the crowd of The Leaky Tap the following day. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”

There’s dark circles under his eyes and his usually impeccably kempt hair is in disarray about his shoulder.

Caleb raises an concerned eyebrow. “Have you slept?”

Mollymauk hastily cards his fingers through his curls. “Not as well as I could have. Just nerves I guess.” He glares over at the Crownsguard hanging about near them. “I can’t wait until these people leave me alone.”

“Only a few days left to go.”

“Yeah, true enough.” Mollymauk shrugs. “Did you need me for something?”

“I just wanted to make certain that you are doing alright.” Caleb searches the room. “Where is Yasha?”

Mollymauk’s tail droops to the floor. “She had to go. God stuff.”

“I am sorry to hear that. She’ll be back soon.”

“I suppose she will be. She promised she’d be back in time for the wedding.” The words sound as uncertain asthe look on his face does. “I hope that that much hasn’t changed.”

“She will be. You are her best friend, _ja?”_ Caleb awkwardly pats Mollymauk’s arm, the heat of his tiefling nature warming his hand. “Why don’t we go to the Tri-Spire. You will need something to wear, will you not?”

Mollymauk brightens a bit, smiling hesitantly. “I would love to. I’m tired of being cooped up like a bird.”

“And peacock’s are meant to roam freely,” Caleb says with all seriousness, moving his hand once he remembers where it’s still sitting.

Something like a blush colors Mollymauk’s cheeks, dusting them a dark purple. “Er, yeah. Usually. Um. I don’t mean to pry, but are you sure that your bosses are okay with you buying stuff for this? I mean, the Tri-Spire isn’t cheap.”

“Ah, well, the Empire pays their mages well.” Mostly in blood money taken from traitors and Krynn killed at the borders. “I would not worry overly much.”

“I’ll try not to.” Mollymauk’s tail curls around his ankle as he laughs a little nervously. “I’ve never really been all that good with people spending coin on me. As much as I like fancy things.”

That’s true. Mollymauk always did overspend and give away much of what he earned on their missions, and only occasionally indulging in something for himself. “Trust me, Mollymauk, I do not mind buying you things.”

Mollymauk cocks his head with a lopsided grin. “Okay, Mr. Caleb. I won’t argue with you about it.” He holds out an arm. “Shall we?”

Caleb takes it, unable to hold back a small smile of his own. “ _Ja,_ Mr. Mollymauk.”

* * *

The first time Caleb came to the Tri-Spire District in this time, he’d half-expected that he’d be thrown out the very instant he set foot past the gates. It takes a long time to remind himself that he’s no longer a dirty beggar, but a well respected mage. The charm has long since worn away, but traversing the streets with Mollymauk at his side buffs a bit of a shine back into it.

Mollymauk looks at everything with wide-eyed excitement as he tries to take it all in at once without the threat of danger, unlike in their previous life, and Caleb cannot help but smile in amusement as he watches Mollymauk dash from shop window to shop window, practically pressing his nose against the glass.

He’s...pretty. He can even be considered beautiful in his unconventional way.

Mollymauk’s hair is longer, as Caleb had first noted. It falls mid-shoulder blade at the longest and just past his shoulders at the shortest, if not counting his bangs that are swept to the left and brush against his sharp cheekbone. The length and the thicker curls give him an even more gender ambiguous look when combined with his delicate bone structure, the gentle slope of his waist, and ever so slightly flared hips. Without his coat and tunic -which it seems he’s discarded for the afternoon-, his tail has more of an ease of movement and gives a decent view of…

Caleb quickly looks away from Mollymauk’s hindquarters covered by his tight, mismatched patterned leggings.

_Alright, Widogast. That’s not only inappropriate, but ill-advised. Stop it._

“Caleb, dear, are you alright?” Mollymauk asks, staring directly at him with his fingers tapping on his bicept.

“I am sorry, I got a bit lost in my thoughts there.”

“Ah, better be careful with that. Could be dangerous,” he teases. He steps a bit closer. “Don’t imagine you wanna talk about it?”

“It is nothing important.” Caleb needs to stop doing that. _Stay in the now and focus._ “There is a decent seamstress shop not far from here. You will like it. Very colorful.”

“Lead the way.”

Silvia’s Lavish Threads is a moderately sized building filled to the brim with fabrics and sample clothing spanning all of Exandria and in all sorts of brilliant shades and patterns fit for royalty, or one ostentatious tiefling.  

“Hello, loves,” an older gnome woman with kind eyes and bushy graying hair greets from behind the counter near the back of the shop. “How may I be of service today?”

“We’re having a wedding here in a few days, and my fiance here suggested that your fine establishment could provide something for it.” Mollymauk’s showmanship comes out to play, all traces of his fatigue disappearing in a metaphorical puff of carnival smoke.

Silvia studies him with curiosity and professional appraisal. “How wonderful! It is a bit last minute, but I’m positive that I can provide.”

Caleb steps forward. “We would pay you extra for the inconvenience, Madam Silvia.”

Silvia’s eyes grow three sizes. “Oh! Master Widogast, I didn’t see you there. Of course I’ll accept your generosity. Your fiance is welcomed to anything they would like.”

“Thank-you,” murmurs Mollymauk in Caleb’s direction, tugging at a stray thread hanging from his shirt sleeve. “What would you suggest for me, Silvia? I trust your professional opinion.”

“Hm, let me see.” Silvia hops down from her stool and leads Mollymauk to an area off to the side where there’s a table and another shorter stool. She grabs a string off the table and stands on the stool, using the string to take various measurements of his lanky form. “Now, do you prefer robes, breeches, or something else?”

Mollymauk’s eyes catch Caleb’s “Could I wear a dress?”

Caleb nods his head, smiling faintly. “Whatever you wish, Mollymauk.”

“Something interesting. Different with lots of color?” Mollymauk tells Silvia. “I like to stand out.”

“That he does.”

“I may have something like that,” Silvia says. She disappears into a back room and returns shortly with a long red dress. “It’s a sample piece, but it could be modified if you like it.”

Caleb steps outside to let them work and summons Frumpkin to hang about his shoulders. “That tiefling’s going to be the death of me.”

Frumpkin meows and butts his head against Caleb’s cheek as if to reassure him that he understands. Caleb begins walking in the direction of the closest bookshop that he knows of, his heart confused.

Well, Mollymauk will spend some time trying on the various offerings on hand anyway, he suspects. That’s fine, it gives Caleb plenty of time to process every memory and strange feeling that being around Mollymauk brings to the surface. If it is this bad now, who knows what the wedding will bring and who will be in attendance.

Will it be Trent?

Nausea swells in his stomach at the thought, as inevitable as it may be. He hasn’t seen his old teacher in two months, and it still feels like not enough has passed. It’s the hardest part about his plans. There is no hiding and running from that man this time.

* * *

Caleb returns to Silvia’s an hour later a few books heavier and a few gold lighter, his mood improved with the notion of new reading material, and just in time to witness Mollymauk slipping his shirt back over his head.

“Everything go well?” he asks. “Did you find anything to your liking?”

Mollymauk grins, all sharp teeth. “Yep, we found a winner.”

Silvia carefully bundles a stash of fabric into her arms. “Mollymauk is a wonderful model with excellent tastes.”

Mollymauk giggles at the compliment. “Ah, only because all of your gowns are as beautiful as you are.”

Caleb looks to and from the two of them as they gush over clothes. He’s just glad to see the liveliness return to Mollymauk’s demeanor. Gray doesn’t suit him at all.

A few more minutes pass before Silvia directs her attention back to Caleb. “I should inform you that I do require payment upfront for rush jobs. I hope that that isn’t a problem.”

“None at all.” Caleb fishes into his coin purse. “How much?”

Silvia taps her chin, eyes skyward in consideration. “For the modifications, undergarments, shoes, and the dress itself...eighty gold.”

It’s cheaper than expected, but Mollymauk still winces in apology as Caleb carefully counts out each gold piece, plus an additional twenty gold, into Silvia’s hand. It’s more than it’s worth, but he’s paid more for paper alone in the past, and perhaps its guilt that makes it easier to do so.

Guilt for Mollymauk’s death, guilt for distrusting him, guilt for forcing this onto him, and into whatever may come. Buying him expensive clothes and overpaying for them is perhaps a poor way to make amends, but it’s something of a start.

“Is there anything else you would like?” Silvia asks, all gracious and bright smiles again. “If not, then come by on the day of the wedding and it should be ready for you.”

Mollymauk shakes his head. “I think I’m okay. Thanks.”

She pats his hand. “It was my pleasure to help you, dear. I hope you have a long and happy marriage.”

They say their goodbyes and leave with arms full of books and a box of shoes and small clothes.  Mollymauk wastes no time setting his things down and throwing his arms about Caleb’s shoulders.

“Hey, Caleb? Thank-you. Honestly. You’ve already done so much for me,” he says against Caleb’s head, a hint of tears in his voice. “I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”

Caleb stands stiff until he lets go and they head on their way, a skip to Mollymauk’s walk that's endearing and ridiculous.

 _How can you make it up to me if this is me making this up to you?_  


	5. Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvest's Close comes too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! The wedding chapter is finally here ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 
> 
> And just so you're all aware, from here on out chapters will be longer (four thousand words or so), and will be multiple POV rather then one chapter only being from one. Easier to write longer chapters that way, and flows better imo. 
> 
> Thank-you to everyone who commented on the last chapter. You're all so nice, and I'll definitely reply when I have the chance. I look forward to hearing from more of you as things pick up~

_3rd of Fessuran 335 P.D. - Harvest’s Close Festival_

It’s difficult to believe that five days have already gone by when Molly crawls out of bed early that morning and is informed that he only has a few hours to prepare for his wedding. As soon as the door shuts, his smile falls and panic threatens to set in.

He’d been holding up so well since Caleb had turned up at his room to tell him the news, he’d even handled choosing his clothing for the day without any sort of panic attack, but the reality of it is setting in, and, combined with the dreams haunting him every night, he’s reaching the end of his capability with _dealing_.

Everyone from here on out will know of him not as Mollymauk Tealeaf, but as the tiefling prince whose husband is the future Archmage of Civil Influence. He’ll be someone who he’s not, a pretty creature hanging off an arm for people to coo over or throw their scorn towards. Who’d ever want that?

He’s on the verge of puking, curled in on himself on the edge of the bed, when there’s a quiet knock and the door swings open. Yasha peers inside. “It’s alright. I’m here,” she says to his hunched form.

Molly takes a few breaths as she sits down beside him and wraps an arm around his waist. “I thought I had this handled, ya know? I was prepared. Caleb’s been incredibly kind, but it’s not enough. How did you do it?”

“I was scared, too. I was so scared that my tribe was going to take Zualla from me.” And they had later, but Molly doesn’t bring that up and neither does Yasha. “I was breaking all of the rules for her, but none of that mattered because I loved her so much.”

“Isn’t that the difference, though? You chose her. I didn’t choose Caleb.” Despite his kindness and willingness to give Molly his freedoms, it doesn’t change that there’s no love involved, that this is against both of their wills. What if Caleb ends up hating him? What if he hates Caleb? They barely know each other, and their personalities could not be more different than day and night.

“That is true, but never forget that I’ll be here for you whenever I can be.” Yasha presses a kiss to his cheek. “And if he hurts you know that all of the magic in the world will not stop me.”

“As if anyone in their right mind would try,” Molly chuckles, leaning against her. He takes another deep breath, his heartbeat slowing to a normal, functioning pace. “Do you mind helping me get ready? There’s, um, a lot I need to do.”

“Of course I’ll help.”

After a quick trip to Silvia’s, the arduous task of beautifying a tiefling for a wedding begins.

Yasha turns out to be rather talented at applying cosmetics and styling hair. It’s not the kind of fancy that someone like the high born ladies of Rexxentraum would wear, but there’s a certain cleverness to the way she traces thick lines in gold down his chin and across areas of his chest that aren’t covered by his gown, adding a the swath of gray across his eyes like a mask to complete it. It stands out against the gold thread sewn into the neck and hemlines.

The jewelry that is adorning his horns, ears, and face are shown off all the better from the way she’s put tight braids into his hair at the sides to keep it out of his face.

Molly examines his image in the battered, foggy mirror that he’s borrowed from the proprietor as Yasha does a few final adjustments to the laces of his corset and buttons up the back of the gown. It’s been years since he's been this dressed up, not since the time he faked being royalty, and even then it had been nothing but costume pieces.

No need for pretending to be royalty now.

“Do I look alright?” He tilts his head and runs his hands over his cinched in waist. He’s always had a good shape, but the corset is doing a fabulous job at enhancing it all the better. “It’s not too much, is it?”

“I think you look beautiful,” replies Yasha, brushing loose hair over his shoulders. “Xhorhas suits you.” She’s of course referring to the makeup and hair, some of the remnants of her tribe’s traditions that she's held onto. “But I think it needs one more thing.”

She slips her shawl off her shoulders and onto his.

Molly gapes at her through the mirror, painted mouth fallen open. “I can’t wear this…”

“I want you to. Besides, you are only borrowing it for today.”

He can’t find the words to thank her as they catch in his throat, and all he can do is nod and try not to ruin his makeup with his tears.

He’s spared from touch-ups by the knock on the door and a masculine voice calling through it, “Are you ready in there?”

Molly sniffles and pulls the shawl closer to his body. “Yeah, just a moment.” He takes a few more breaths- not easy to do in a corset- and opens the door. “Alright,” he says, putting on a smile, “let’s go get this over with.”

* * *

“Will you stop pacing? You’re making me nervous and it’s not even my wedding day,” Eodwulf grouses, watching Caleb walk from one side of his bedroom to the other like a man possessed. “You’re going to put a hole through the floor.”

“Sorry,” mutters Caleb, sounding not all that sorry even to his own ears. “I didn’t mean to.”

Eodwulf dramatically sighs. “I know how you feel. I nearly fainted when I first saw Astrid in her wedding dress. Just...remember to breathe, alright? You’ll be a poor husband if you pass out now.”

“I have my doubts that I’ll be a good husband regardless if I am conscious or not,” Caleb says, switching into Common.

“Come on, you should get ready.” Eodwulf rolls his eyes. “You really should not be late to your own wedding. What what the public think when I have to tell them you fell into the Underdark?”

“Hilarious, ‘Wulf,” Caleb grumbles, grabbing his dress robes off his bed with more force than is entirely necessary. “Surprising that you still have a sense of humor after all this time.”

Eodwulf shrugs a wide shoulder. “Between you and Astrid, someone around here needs to have one. Not everyone can be sticks in the mud all the time.” He grins, . “Humor is, afterall, my strong suit.”

“If you say so.” Caleb carefully examines his robes, running his fingers over the brocade and heavy folds of cloth. They’re beautiful and of high quality, but they have always been off-putting to him, a constant reminder of this flawed path he’s taken for the greater good. “Is Astrid planning on being there or is she still mad at me?”

He’s not seen her since that day in the King’s Hall, and, to be frank, he’s not terribly torn up about it after her latest stunt, or so he tells himself.

“She’ll be there regardless of her feelings about it, considering that Master Ikithon ordered it so.” Eodwulf frowns a little, some of that good humor fading. “And he will be there to make sure of it.”

That is poor news, but it's not unexpected. “I would have thought that he would be busy with his current projects.”

“Apparently he wanted to attend the Victory Pit festivities. No doubt he is looking for new potentials.” He smiles a little bitterly now. “Astrid and I never did quite as well as you, you know, but even _Bren_ was never enough for his goals.”

Caleb only just keeps himself from flinching at the sound of his old name out of habit. It never gets easier to hear.

Caleb, or rather Bren, had been the closest Trent had ever gotten to finding someone with a true natural affinity for Dunamancy outside of the Krynn, but once it had become clear that he had more of an inclination towards the Evocation school, specifically fire, Trent’s attentions had moved elsewhere.

If only he knew how much Caleb had held back.

“He is certainly driven, I'll give you that much,” he says, beginning to strip down behind his changing screen. The weight of the robes on his shoulders feel like they’re pulling him down, and already he misses his far simpler robes and his old familiar coat.

“That is a polite way of putting it.”

They only ever felt comfortable talking about these things in private, away from prying eyes and overhearing ears. It reminds Caleb of the old days when things were more relaxed between the three kids from Blumenthal, back when the most complicated thing was trying to navigate the relationship they all shared.

Eodwulf’s fingers trace over the various layers and adjusts the pleats and laces like it’s second nature, entirely familiar with both the robes and Caleb. They linger here and there a bit longer than they should, like the ghosts of the past that they are.

Yes, they’ve always been complicated, especially now with two of them married and the other soon to be.

“There, perfect.” He pats Caleb’s arm. “I think you are ready.”

Caleb reminds himself to breathe.    

* * *

Molly can feel all of the eyes of the day drinking patrons staring at him as he walks into the main tavern in all of his wedding glory and out of the exit in a rustle of silk skirts and heeled boots. Outside there are two horses waiting for them; a pretty white mare and a larger dappled stallion. He assumes that the mare’s for him, and, with Yasha’s help, sits sideways on its saddle with her behind him while the crownsguard takes the other.

They trot down the streets, civilians giving them enough space to pass and watching the procession with curiosity and excitement, to the Tri-Spire District. The crownsguard leads Molly and Yasha to a beautiful, tree-lined square decorated for the occasion, the leaves on the branches already faded into shades of orange and yellow.

It seems that everyone not participating in the games elsewhere are here in their nice clothes, ready to see the future archmage marry Xhorhasian royalty in what they surely believe to be a sign of a future peace between the two empires. They mill about at a large table laden down with food and drink, and look at Molly with a mix of expressions upon seeing a tiefling wearing an expensive dress. Not what they expected, he assumes.

He does his best to ignore the more hostile ones as he’s assisted by the crownsguard down to the cobblestone ground and focuses his energies on trying to find Caleb.

He finds him near an altar dedicated to the Lawbearer at the far end of the square. From what Molly can tell from this distance, he looks as handsome as ever, his eyes trailing over the red and gold brocade that covers Caleb’s royal blue robes that reach trouser clad knees that then disappear into a pair of dark boots. There’s a high-collared cape hanging off of his shoulders, and his hair has been pulled back at the base of his head into a bun, leaving only a few strands hanging around his clean-shaven face.

Caleb’s head turns his direction, and his pale cheeks go so red that even from where he stands, Molly can see them glowing like they’re the midday sun in high summer.

_Oh, this isn't good._

* * *

If he were to be an honest man, Caleb would say that he hadn’t expected Mollymauk to be quite so extreme in his appearance, but perhaps he should have. It is not as if Mollymauk has ever been subtle in his presentation, always good for a burst of color there and riotous laughter there.

This is, well, different, that color expressed in a way that Caleb hasn’t seen him in before, and it is suffice to say that what he's wearing now is a shock to the system.

 _That isn't a bad thing,_ he reminds himself now as he picks his jaw up off the ground before he can collect flies.

The gown that Mollymauk chose for this day is deep burgundy red, shot through with golden thread throughout, but especially abundant at the neckline and hem. The bodice is form fitting around his waist, and the neckline plunges to the bottom of his chest, giving a generous view of the peacock feathers and thin, pale scars etched into lavender skin. If he'd had breasts it would be considered more than a little scandalous for such a formal occasion.

The sleeves are sheer and loose from his shoulders to his bangled wrists where they grow solid and taper to a point on the backs of his hands, held in place by the loop around his middle fingers. A split runs up to mid-thigh on either side of the full skirt, showing off tall black boots and red lace stockings. The familiar shawl draped loosely over his shoulders does little to tone down the provocative attire.

It's not the gown itself that catches his attention, although it definitely does that, but the pieces of gold jewelry hanging from his horns, matching the color of the line that starts beneath his pierced lip and runs down his chest, splitting at various points, does.

What the rest of his face looks like, Caleb doesn't know from the manner that it's been obscured by a black veil pinned in place between his horns by a ruby encrusted hair clip. The gold and rubies are probably fake, but it doesn't take away from the sheer otherworldliness that Mollymauk has achieved in a short amount of time.

No wonder everyone is staring at him, it's hard not to.

Mollymauk joins him at the altar of the Lawbearer and slowly lifts the veil high enough for a peak. Beneath, his red eyes are lined in gold with a gray paint swathe from one side of his face to the other, starting just underneath the eyes and covering his skin up to his hair.

“Hey, Caleb,” says Mollymauk, voice just loud enough to hear. “You look nice.”

“Er, _ja,_ you as well.”

Mollymauk smiles and looks to the cleric of the Lawbearer that is joining their hands together.

“We are here today to join these two souls together for eternity in the eyes of the King Dwendal and of the Gods themselves,” she says in a strong and clear voice, silencing the murmuring crowd that clusters in closer for a better view. “High Mage Caleb Widogast and Prince Lucian of Xhorhas did not choose each other, but everyone must make sacrifices for duty and for the Empire.”

Caleb watches Mollymauk’s smile dim at the name and quickly squeezes his hand for comfort.

The cleric drones on, speaking more about duty and glory, war and peace. It’s nothing but the sanctioned words of the king, not that of the Gods, who Caleb hopes would disagree with the idea of forcing marriages onto people who don't want them.

“Are there specific vows you would like to trade?” She asks them.

Caleb pushes back the veil the rest of the way and meets Mollymauk’s eyes encouragingly as he speaks.

“You are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone. I give you my body, that we two might be one. I give you my spirit, until our life shall be done. You cannot possess me for I belong to myself, but while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in those ways you require and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.”

Mollymauk nods and repeats the words back, voice wavering at first, but becoming stronger as he focuses only on Caleb.

When they finish, the cleric hands a goblet of wine first to Caleb to sip, then passes to Mollymauk. Once they have both partaken, she procures a red cord and wraps it about their hands. It flashes gold when knotted, binding them together for all to see.

“And so it is done, and with this I shall say you wedded. May the Gods bless you until the end of your days.”

There is no exchange of rings like in Tal’Dorei and other areas of Wildmount, the magic of the handfasting being enough for those to witness it. It thrums through Caleb, warm and sure. No doubt Mollymauk feels it as well.

 _There's no turning back,_ Caleb realizes. _There is no breaking this magic._

* * *

If there’s one thing to be grateful for it’s that the ceremony is a short and simple one without overmuch fanfare, giving way to a feast that all can partake in. Molly makes his way there as quickly as he can manage with Yasha helping fend off the witnesses that keep trying to pull him into conversations.

Poor Caleb isn’t as lucky. He makes it only a few feet at a time before he’s stopped by people vying for his attention or giving him their congratulations, his expression carefully neutral as he ever so politely tries to slip away from them to no avail. He can  see the flexing of Caleb’s fingers, the only indicator of the building frustration.

“You should go rescue him,” a halfling woman with mousy brown hair pulled into two braids suggests to him. She looks familiar, but he can’t quite figure out why that is. “He’ll be stuck there forever.”

“If I go over there we’ll both be stuck there forever,” Molly points out, grabbing a strawberry off a fruit tray and popping it into his mouth. “And then nothing would ever get done.”

The halfling laughs. “Yeah, probably.” She smiles and holds out a small hand. “I’m Veth, by the way. I’m a friend of Caleb’s.”

Molly takes it and gives a small shake. “Nice to meet you, Veth. You already know who I am.”

“Yes, I do, your Highness.”

Molly scowls, swallowing the strawberry like it’s gone bad in his mouth. “Uh, you don’t have to call me that. Just Molly’s fine.”

“Oh, sorry. Molly it is.” She pulls her hand back and crosses her arms. “Caleb did say that you were touchy about that. Do you really have amnesia?”

Molly promptly realizes who this chatty halfling reminds him off. “Nott?”

Veth, or Nott rolls her eyes. “Did Caleb tell you? You know, alias’ only work if no one _knows_ your actual name.”

“Apologies,” Molly says automatically. So is Nott an actual halfling now or is this another of her disguises, and does he ask about it?

“That’s fine,” Nott-Veth shrugs. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you a warning.”

Molly arches a brow. “What sort of warning?”

She looks at him, suddenly serious, and uncrosses an arm to pokes at his chest. “If you hurt Caleb, I’ll know about it. I don’t care if you’re Xhorhasian or not.”

“Why would I hurt him?”

“Because you’re a spy?”

Molly huffs, a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Some things never change. “I’m not a spy. I don’t want anything to do with the political bullshit in either empire.”

“Hm. We’ll see.”

“Oh, good, you two have met.” Caleb appears beside him, looking more than a little winded.

Molly has never been happier to be interrupted. “Managed to escape, did ya?”

Caleb slouches into himself, a glass of wine in hand that he holds close to his chest like a lifeline. “ _Ja,_ and I would like to get out of here. If one more person tries to engage me in conversation, I will set the food on fire and no one will be happy.”

“It would get the attention off of us at least,” Molly chuckles. “That’s a good enough reason to me.”

Nott, or Veth, or whatever she wants to be called, thoughtfully looks back and forth between them, words forming on her lips that are only halted by the sudden look of abject panic that flashes across Caleb’s face and the white-knuckled grasp on the fragile stem of his wine glass. Molly’s eyes follow Caleb’s line of sight and falls upon an older man with jaundiced skin covered in liver spots and sporting long white hair, bald at the top, walking their direction, his robes giving away his status as a wizard.

The memory of the party after their win in the Victory Pit fight forms in Molly’s mind, and he quickly, almost like it's an instinct, reaches out and takes Caleb’s hand into his. He has no idea what the relationship between this wizard and Caleb is, but it doesn’t take a scholar to know that it’s not a good one.

“Mollymauk, we should go,” Caleb whispers, hoarse with the desperate need to run. “That man there is extremely dangerous.”

“Right, okay. Let's go.” Nott’s already vanished when Molly goes to look for her. On the other side of him, Yasha’s hand is going towards her sword. “Where should we go?”

“Anywhere that is not here.” Caleb’s hand is squeezing hard enough that it may leave a bruise.

Molly starts to tug him a random direction when the wizard reaches them before they can move an inch and Caleb freezes in place, tension palpable in the air around them.

Who the hell is this man to elicit such a response from him?

“Well, Bren, I’m glad to see that the ceremony went off without an issue,” this wizard says, addressing Caleb with a name that Molly’s only heard once before but never by Caleb. His cold eyes then slide over to Molly, looking him over as if he’s a prized cow heading for the slaughter. “And I’m pleased to finally meet His Highness, as well.”

Caleb’s throat bobs with a forced swallow, skin practically gone translucent with how pale it is. “Um, yes. Lucian, I am pleased to present Master Trent Ikithon, Archmage of Civil Influence, and my mentor in the arcane arts.”

Molly’s gaze narrows at Trent. There’s something decidedly unpleasant about him, Caleb’s fearful reaction aside. The smile on his thin lips doesn’t meet his eyes, despite how pleasant he attempts to make it out to be. All it does is make Molly want to get Caleb as far as from him as possible.

“Yes, charmed,” Molly flatly says, only just resisting the urge to curse at him with a blood maledict. He has the feeling that it would go over poorly, and, frankly, he’s not in the mind to put Caleb into an even more uncomfortable situation than they’re already in.

“Indeed. I would like to formally apologize for putting you through this, but I’m sure that you understand the gravity of the situation that forced my hand, our lands being what they are and their relationship with each other,” Trent goes on to say. He sounds less than particularly upset about it. “A war is only just being avoided thanks to this marriage.”

Molly’s lip curls and his tail lashes at his feet. Caleb continues to hold his hand so tightly. “Of course. Makes complete sense.”

Trent either doesn’t understand just how close he is to being skewered by the dagger Molly’s hidden beneath his skirts or just doesn’t care, as he continues to smile, although it does drop the slightest amount around the edges.

“And in order for this marriage to do what it is intended, certain considerations need to be taken. I’m sure that you also understand that in order for a marriage to be considered legal binding in the eyes of the Crown consummation is a requirement, yes?”

Caleb looks seconds from passing out or strangling Ikithon with own bare hands. “We do.”

Molly’s heart thumps frantically in his chest. You _don’t have to do this. I know where this is going. Don’t do this to Caleb._

 _“_ Good, then when you're ready, you will be escorted to your home for the proceedings. I’ll admit that it’s a bit old fashioned for my tastes, but the king wants to make certain that there can be no disputes over the standing of this union.” Trent looks over Caleb’s shoulder. “Now, please excuse me for a moment.”

Molly doesn’t relax until he’s out of earshot and leads Caleb to a less occupied spot in the square. He nods at Yasha, silently telling her to hold her spot. “We can run, Caleb. I hear that the Menagerie Coast is beautiful this time of year. We don’t have to go through with anything that you don’t want. I don’t care what that man says.”

Caleb shakes his head, his body trembling like a leaf. “You do not understand. Wherever we go, Trent Ikithon will find us, and I have little doubt in my mind that he would kill you in a breath if it meant saving face.”

“Not before I took him down with me.” Few times has Molly ever been so furious in his life that he’d honestly consider murdering the Archmage of Civil Influence in cold blood for all to see, but he’s there now.

Caleb turns on him, grabbing him roughly by the arms and meeting his eyes without a flinch. “Mollymauk, listen to me carefully. You cannot comprehend his power. He would strike you down before you ever had a chance to swing.” He leans in so close that Molly can see the desperation in them as clear as day, and lowers his voice so that Yasha’s angry presence and that of the others nearby cannot hear it. “I did not change time only because of my parents death.”

“Okay, then why? What has that man done to make you so terrified of him?”

“I’ve seen what Trent Ikithon can do. He is the person that trained me, and, because of this, the moment I was forced to fight him in the future that may not happen, I ran. I flung my consciousness once into the future, and then into the past so that I would not have to, to make it so that our friends would never have to sacrifice themselves for me.” Caleb’s expression is so stricken with grief that Molly wants to try to kill Ikithon anyway just for the pinciple of it. “I could not handle another friend, my _husband_ , doing it for me all over again.”

What the hell happened when Molly was dead? Did he really miss that much?

“What do you want to do, then?” he asks, holding himself back.

Caleb let’s go of his arms and sends a glance Trent’s direction. “We do what he says, and, when the time is right, simply trust me.”

“He’s trying to coerce you into sleeping with me, Caleb,” Molly utters in disgust. “As pretty as you are, dear, I don’t fuck the unwilling.”

Caleb mirthlessly smiles. It lasts only a moment before it gives way to his characteristic frowning, like he lacks the strength to keep up even the semblance of happiness. “You may not have the choice.”

He pulls away and walks off while Molly contemplates his options and settles on brooding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vows Caleb and Molly use are the ones from traditional pre-Christian Irish ceremonies. I thought it was appropriate here.


	6. First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mollymauk runs his fingers over the staircase bannister leading to the second floor. “Do we go up to you room?” he asks, other hand on his cocked hip. “Or does our audience prefer that we fuck on the floor in front of the fireplace?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the somewhat late update! One of my betas got a little busy. 
> 
> As usual thanks to everyone who's commented and/or left kudos!

Caleb should have known that this would happen. He should have suspected from the very beginning of this whole affair that Trent would come with his own motivations, more tests to put his most dedicated student through to ensure that Caleb would continue to do anything that the Empire would ask of him. 

And he has to- not because he wants to- but to keep Trent from finding a weakness and punishing Mollymauk for whatever he perceived it to be. He doesn't doubt that Trent would do exactly that in spite of all of the bravado that Mollymauk expresses when he tells him as much. All those close to him are well acquainted with the archmage’s interest in those that come from Xhorhas. 

It’s really what ultimately pushes Caleb to spill some details of his many secrets, and admit that he hadn't been strong enough to fight his former teacher when it had been the most important. It proves that no matter how far he comes he’s still that same coward he used to be. 

No wonder Mollymauk finds the idea of having sex with him so appalling, or that's the impression that Caleb gets from his reaction, and if that's the case he can hardly blame him for it.

They don't say much to each other after that, avoiding each others eyes as much as they can. Neither one eats much of anything, either, as Caleb forces himself to contribute to small talk with those eager to speak with him, and Mollymauk stands off to the side, watching with an downright miserable look on his face. 

Every so often Caleb catches sight of Astrid and Eodwulf moving through the crowd, eyes darting around for any and all possible threats. They don't come near him, sticking closer to Trent’s side while he smiles as benevolently as he’s capable and chats with the other mages that have come out to witness the talk of the town.

Nott has vanished somewhere, keeping out of sight of them just in case she's recognized, and Yasha silently stands guard over Mollymauk, one hand resting on the hilt of her weapon and the other on his shoulder. Her bi-colored eyes narrow every so often in Caleb’s direction.

_ You cannot make me feel any worse than I already do,  _ he reassures her. 

Mollymauk trusted him to be able to keep his promise and he’s already broken it. They’ve only been married for two hours; surely that's some kind of record.

Time, as it is wont to do, marches on, and too soon the witnesses begin to leave with the setting of the late afternoon sun. The few that linger send expecting glances his and Mollymauk’s direction. 

At sunset, as per the old days, they’re to be escorted to Caleb’s home and left in his room with the expectation that they not leave until dawn.

Reluctantly, he roams over to where Mollymauk has staked ownership over the table of food that he’s barely touched. “It is almost time,” he alerts him.

Mollymauk looks towards the sun and sighs. “I noticed as much.” Then adds as an afterthought, “Are you  _ sure _ that you don’t wanna run instead?”

Caleb, despite the relative seriousness of the situation, snorts into his fist. “As much as I would love to, what I said has not changed.”

“I know. Just thought I’d ask.” Mollymauk slowly turns a wine glass between his hands, staring down at it contemplatively as if it holds all of the answers. “If we’re gonna really do this, I think you owe me some explanations sooner rather than later. If Ikithon is as bad as you say he is, and I’m keen on believing you, I kinda need to know why. We’re in this together, Caleb. We need trust between us.”

Caleb solemnly nods his head. “That's fair. There are some things that I cannot tell you for your own good.” When Mollymauk opens his mouth to argue, Caleb holds up a hand. “But I will tell you what I can.”

Mollymauk lifts his glass and downs the little bit of red wine that’s still left in it with an air of finality. “Fine. Better than nothing, I guess. I did tell you once that you can’t carry all the burdens. That’s just as true now as it was then, because if you do, you’re just gonna break under the weight of it all.” 

There’s something to the sad little twist to his lips that makes Caleb want to ask if Mollymauk has some personal experience in burdens. 

_ He does now,  _ Caleb muses as he grabs a second glass of fine wine for himself,  _ and all to keep himself alive and help prevent a war that’s going to happen regardless of anything we do.  _

They return to their tense silence until Eodwulf comes to alert them, the sun now set in shades of orange and pinks.

“It’s time,” he says, looking apologetic for his part. “Master Ikithon requested that Astrid and I be the ones to escort you to your bed.”

Caleb deeply sighs, and finishes off his drink. “Very well. Let's get this over with.”

“I should tell Yasha to head back to the Tap,” Mollymauk says. “She’s, uh, not too happy about all of this. I'm honestly surprised that she's not gone into a rage yet.”

“Understandable. Also, please tell her that I will cover the costs of room and board for as long as she’s here.”

Mollymauk gives him one long look, like he wants to say something, but instead he only nods and wanders to Yasha’s side, leaving Caleb to stare at his retreating back with the insidious curling sensation of apprehension in his gut.

The feeling doesn’t subside even after Mollymauk rejoins him and it only grows when they’re forced to share the horse that will carry them both to the Gilded Willows.

With them this close together it’s impossible not to touch. Mollymauk rests his back against Caleb’s chest, and he in turn helps support him so that he does not go tumbling off the horse like a sack of potatoes. It’s not a particularly comfortable ride.

He’s hyper-aware of the heat coming from Mollymauk’s body, and does his best to keep his own in check. It’s ridiculous to save face now when they’re going to be sharing a bed and a night together, but no one ever accused Caleb of always being sensible. His muscles are tense, and it’s a wonder that they haven’t snapped like a string. 

Astrid and Eodwulf are riding behind them on their own horses. It’s less protection and more to prevent the newlyweds from making a run for it. Trent is ensuring that his best student and his hostage of a husband is at the mercy of the best babysitters that the Dwendallian Empire has to offer.

They stop outside a cheery two-story, red brick home with a wrought iron fence wrapped around a modest green yard. It’s admittedly not one of the fancier homes in the district, but it suits Caleb’s needs well enough, better than living on the streets, cold and hungry and left wanting for more.

Mollymauk looks at it with naked amazement as he hops down with the aid of Eodwulf, heels clacking softly against the stone as he lands. He adjusts his gown and turns to sardonically smile at him over his shoulder.“Shall we enter past the threshold, dear husband mine?”

Caleb can hear Eodwulf stifling his chuckle as he takes Mollymauk’s hand and leads him inside, a snap of his fingers undoing the arcane lock that secures the front door better than any simple hardware could. The inside is as practical as the outside, all dark woods and earthy tones that reminds him of the colors of Blumenthal. It’s why he specifically chose this house. 

Mollymauk runs his fingers over the staircase bannister leading to the second floor. “Do we go up to you room?” he asks, other hand on his cocked hip. “Or does our audience prefer that we fuck on the floor in front of the fireplace?”

This time Eodwulf doesn’t bother to hide his laughter, and Caleb turns just in time to see the annoyed expression flash over Astrid’s face. It’s so very tempting to say yes, if only to observe how his uncomfortable guests handle Mollymauk’s complete lack of anything resembling shame. He knows for a fact that he sleeps naked.

Have them send that little bit of information to Trent.

“Upstairs is fine,” he says instead, and leads them up to his room. 

Mollymauk looks about the sizable room with interest, tail slowly waving. “Very cozy,” he says, hint of a grin firmly in its place. 

It’s the same wood and colors as downstairs, with a few carpets on the floor and a fireplace taking up most of a wall. There’s a door off to the side of it, leading to the bathroom and adjacent clawfoot tub complete with indoor plumbing. The large bed is covered in blankets and pillows, a cozy canopy hanging above far above and hanging down as a curtain at each post. There is of course a bookshelf filled with all sorts of volumes, and an armoire to store the few clothing articles he brought with him from Rexxentraum.

Mollymauk studies all of it like a student hungry for secret knowledge, peeking through the bathroom door and reading the title on the spine of each book. Putting off the inevitable, if Caleb had to take a guess.  

Eodwulf clears his throat, reminding them that he and Astrid are still standing behind them. “Alright. You two will be in here until dawn. The door will be enchanted to remain closed until then. If you have a need anything just send a message and it will be brought up to you.” He grins. “Have fun!”

One by one, they exit to find their own room for the evening, leaving Mollymauk and Caleb alone for the first time in hours. It’s blessedly quiet if but for the beating of his heart, sounding so loud in his ears.

He shuffles from foot to foot, trying to will himself to do  _ something.  _ He’s not even sure on where to start as he watches Mollymauk finish his inspection of their surroundings.

* * *

 

Molly wasn’t sure what he expected Caleb’s room to look like, but he likes what he finds and it suits his new husband well. Sure, it’s a little boring for his own tastes, then again his are a little bit overwhelming for most people, especially for someone like Caleb who seems to have a preference for earthy colors. 

“So how do you want to go about this?” Molly asks, removing Yasha’s shawl and carefully draping it over the back of a chair before going removing the jewelry from his ears and horns. He sets them down on the nightstand next to the bed. The dagger on his leg is next, dulled silver glinting in the faint candlelight being cast by the sconces on the walls. “I’m pretty open to trying new things if you’ve got any preferences.”

“We don’t have to do anything.” Caleb takes off his boots and socks, setting them down by the fireplace that he’s lit with a spark of convenient magic.

Molly, in the middle of taking off own his boots, pauses mid-motion, confused. “I kinda thought that we did. Wasn’t the whole point to make sure that things are ‘finalized’? You sounded pretty sure there’d be no getting out of it.”

Caleb removes his cloak and starts to unlace the complex looking bits of his robes. “I will...think of something. An illusion or some other magic.”

Molly sighs and strides over to him once he's gotten both boots off, taking his hand that’s fumbling with the laces and silently taking note of the tremble to his fingers. “Caleb. I know that you’re just trying to protect me and keep those promises of yours, and I’m flattered that you would, but I don’t wanna take a chance of this coming back to bite you, either.” 

“But,” Caleb stutters as Molly starts to help with his task, “you should not worry about me.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m going to, seeing as there's very few to do it for me. I told you that we’re in this together now, right? “ Molly slips the robes off to reveal the undershirt beneath, which is just as quick to join the rest. His eyes skim over his chest, dusted with more freckles and an attractive amount of fine hair. He’s carrying more weight, too, no longer looking as hungry as he had when Molly saw him in the bath house. His eyes skim down to his arms, pausing on the bandages wrapped around his forearms and hands.

“Okay, Why don’t we find a middle ground. We don’t have to do too much of anything, but I have it on good authority that I’m pretty good with my tongue.”

Caleb’s face, bless him, turns bright red and his body goes still. “ _ Was?”  _ he sputters in that delightful Zemnian language that he falls into with such ease.

Molly sighs again in exasperation. Oh, hell. 

“I don’t know what that is. Here, just help me with these first, then take your trousers off and get comfortable on the bed.” He turns around to present the long row of brass-colored buttons that run down the back of his gown to where his tail sticks out, sweeping his hair over his shoulder for easier access. “It’s a little difficult to get these on my own.” 

Long, perpetually ink-stained fingers fumble as they slowly undo each button, pausing every time one gets stuck and swearing quietly in Zemnian. Finally, once the last one has been unbuttoned, Caleb awkwardly removes his trousers and slides up onto the bed, still in his small clothes and eyes averted as Molly slips his arms out of his sleeves. There’s a soft whispering of silk as the gown pools around his feet, revealing the jet black corset and red lace that lies beneath that contrasts against the soft purple flesh.

“Let's begin. Try and remember to breathe.”

* * *

Mollymauk gives him a sly smile and crawls over the bed, cat-like grace in his movements. Caleb can’t look away from him no matter how hard he tries to keep his eyes lowered to the mattress. Every part of him is thrumming in anticipation and nervousness in equal measure and he fists the duvet as a barely covered tiefling slinks up between his legs. 

“In order for me to actually get to you, you’re gonna have to take these off, too.” Mollymauk points at the small clothes preserving what little modesty Caleb still has intact. “No point in being shy around me. You don’t have anything that I haven’t seen before.” 

Caleb’s face burns, and he lifts his hips high enough for Mollymauk to yank the flimsy fabric down his legs with a flourish. When he then reaches for the bandages, Caleb shoots a hand out to stop him. “Wait. Let me do it.”

Mollymauk nods and pulls back. “Okay.”

Painfully slowly, Caleb unravels them. Beneath the layer of protective covering are the scars. Where they had been faint before, faded with the years he’d spent in the asylum, they are now far more visible, shiny and white against the light. The experiments had gone on longer than he’d liked, still agonizing as waves of sharp, burning magic brought on by deceptively delicate shards of crystals filled his veins with their power.

“You wanted to know what Trent is capable of? This is only one small part of what he can do,” he says. He holds his arms out in front of him. “Astrid, Eodwulf, and I each had crystals placed under our skin in hopes that our power be amplified. It worked, but not as much as he’d hoped they would. It drained us quicker than our natural abilities do as the trade off for intnesity.”

“Did he force this on you?” Mollymauk’s voice is soft with anger, turning Caleb’s arms this way and that to examine each pale line etched into flesh. When there's no answer, he glances up at him. “Caleb?”

“I did not say no to him.” He feels no shame about admitting it now, and it’s only because of the Mighty Nein that he’s found some fleeting confidence. “He thought that it would help me become stronger so I said yes to it. I wanted to be stronger.”

Mollymauk traces one with a long, pointed nail, so very careful not to scratch and draw more blood. “That doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have  _ experimented  _ on anyone.”

Caleb watches the motions with fascination, goosebumps forming at the soft touches. “I know that now. I do not think that it mattered to me back when I’d been so young. According to one insightful firbolg, children are rather impressionable, especially ones who wanted to impress.”

“You were a child when this happened?” The pleading is gone and the anger is back in full force, crimson eyes promising vengeance on Caleb’s behalf.

“I was. Not incredibly young, but young enough.” Caleb casts Mollymauk a bitter smile, brittle at the edges. “It was about duty, to rise above the rest. If I could grow strong enough, I could be more than just a poor soldier’s boy from a backwater town on the northern edge of the Empire.”

“It doesn’t matter where someone comes from, no amount o-of  _ patriotism _ should allow for someone to take advantage of a child who doesn’t know better.” Mollymauk lets go, but he doesn’t look away from the scars. “It’s going to be real fucking hard not to carve Trent’s heart out when I see him next because I want to.”

“I need you to not do that.” Caleb pulls his arms close to his chest. “Please, Mollymauk. You said that you would not do anything.”

“I’ll try.” He groans, frustrated, a swear in Infernal slipping out, the sound tingling against Caleb’s human eardrums, as he sits back on his legs and drags a hand down his face, smudging makeup. “So much for the mood.”   

“I honestly did not want to do this anyway,” confesses Caleb. Mollymauk isn’t the only one no longer in any kind of mood for intimacy. 

“I sorta had the feeling that was the case. Thank goodness.”

“I am sorry.” Caleb swings his legs over the edge of the bed and looks for his small clothes, finding them over on the far side of the room and pulling them up over his legs. “I should not have tried to convince either of us into it.”

It doesn’t stop Caleb from feeling like shit, and more than a little bit conflicted. They’re supposed to consummate this union, but he’d hate himself even more if they did. 

“There’s no need to apologize.” Mollymauk shrugs a shoulder. “Like I said, I don’t feel good about you being forced to do this. If you don’t want this to happen, then it won’t. Simple as that. Although, I’m curious how we’re going to explain it to your two friends in the morning.” 

“I trust that they will believe us if we say we did, or Eodwulf will make certain that his wife will keep a secret if we were to tell them the truth. He already knows more than she does.” 

Mollymauk’s expression is, as it has been since Caleb started that sentence, unconvinced. “He won’t her hurt her, will he? I might not like Astrid, but I’m not going to put her in harm's way just like that.”

“The day that he would hurt her is the day that the Gods physically return to Exandria. He has been in love with her since before we even left Blumenthal.” Both of them had been, both boys so ready to hand her the world on a silver platter. “No, Eodwulf can be every bit the dedicated soldier as the rest, but there are certain things that he will not do.” 

“That’s good to know.” Mollymauk stands and strips out of the corset and stockings, then deliberately changes the subject. “Is there any chance that you can have someone bring me my things tomorrow? As beautiful as that dress is, I don’t want to wear it every day.”    

“I can do that,” Caleb says, grateful for it.

“Oh, and do you, uh, mind if I use your tub?” Mollymauk asks as Caleb digs out a sleep shirt for both of them. “I don’t want to get makeup all over your nice bed.” 

“Go ahead.” Caleb puts his shirt on and crawls back into bed, far more emotionally exhausted than he should be. 

“And you should get some sleep, dear, you look half-dead.”

Caleb takes that advice to heart and is asleep before Mollymauk leaves the room.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Molly yawns and stretches out in the tub, toes and tail sticking out of the warm water. 

Sadly, Caleb hadn’t had anything particularly fancy as far as soaps went, and so he’d had to settle with whatever was available. 

First chance he gets, he’s buying proper oils and showing Caleb how to indulge himself. There’s other things than sex that can feel good, and Molly isn’t the only one who deserves nice things every once in a while. A good pampering can do wonders for the mood.

Caleb’s spent too long denying himself the little pleasantries, or so Molly assumes. Too busy working and being abused by a man that Molly’d be more than happy to see take a nice long trip off a short cliff.

Molly sits up at that thought and grabs the towel that he’d found in one of the cabinets. Like the soap, it’s more utilitarian than anything, and not as soft it could be. Still, it does the job as Molly stands out of the water and gives himself a pat down before draining the tub. He hadn’t spent much time soaking, not as much as he would have liked to, but he finds himself wanting to get back to Caleb sooner rather than later, feeling like he’s going to vanish into the night after their less than pleasant conversation earlier.

Thankfully, he’s still asleep when Molly walks out of the bathroom. He’s curled up on his side under the blankets, his face relaxed as he softly snores, and occurs to Molly that this might be his first time seeing him like this. When they’d been traveling, Caleb always slept with Nott at inns or, when they were out in the open, he curled in on himself away from the others. There’s that sad flutter in Molly’s chest again.

“Why are you putting yourself through all of this, Caleb Widogast?” he asks aloud, quietly enough not to wake him up. “Why am I?’

Molly’s got a few more questions to ask, but for now, he’s going to curl up, go to sleep, and leave weightier matters for morning.  

Molly finds the short sleep shirt that’s been left out for him and pulls it on over his head with a little bit of difficulty when it gets caught on his horns. It wasn’t made with tieflings in mind, and as much as he’d like to sleep as he normally does, something tells him that it’d be a little too shocking for Caleb to wake up to that right out of the gate. Poor Fjord had learned it the hard way that Molly’s prefered pajamas was no pajamas. It’d been hilarious then, but Caleb is...different, and the need to protect him is as strong as it's always been.

_ Molly, you might just be fancying your own husband. _

How hilarious is it that he’s married to the man and yet he doesn’t even feel like he can tell Caleb that he may have a crush? Maybe hilarious isn’t the right word for it. Sad’s better, sad’s the absolute truth of it, and if he’s going to continue to be honest with himself, seeing as it’s going to be one of those nights, he should just admit that the reason he’s scared to tell him is that he’d also have to be truthful about other things. 

_ Yeah, Caleb, I didn’t just come find you out because you may or may not remember me, but I’m sorta doing a job and that job’s you. You might have broke time and the Matron isn’t thrilled about it. _

They both have their secrets, and at this moment Caleb’s being far more honest than he is.

Molly yawns again. He’s tired without even having the benefit of getting off first. Oh, well. Not the first time, and he’s hardly in the mood to do it. 

He looks at the sleeping form of Caleb and wonders how the hell he’s going to deal with this problem. Deciding that that’s another thing that can wait, he crawls into bed beside him and practically falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow, already dreaming of the possible future. 

* * *

He wakes up around midnight to a raven at the window, staring back at him with dark eyes before it flies off into the night sky.

  
_ I know,  _ he tells it as he pushes himself against the warmth at his back and lets sleep take him once again.  _ I’m working on it.  _


	7. Little Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Caleb have a much needed conversation, and fate once again proves to be a fickle thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, everyone D: 
> 
> So, how about that last episode?

_The Previous Night (Harvest’s Close)_

It’s easy enough for Eodwulf and Astrid to find the guest room down the hall from the happy couple's. They go through the motions of preparing themselves for sleep, prepared for whatever ruckus they may be forced to drown out.

“What do you think of sweet, little Caleb’s new husband?” Eodwulf asks his wife as he curls up on one side of the sizable bed. He may not like her answer, but it’s better than the silence. “I think he’s rather charming in his own way. Very pretty.”  
  
“Do we have to talk about it now?” Astrid sighs, stripped down to the basics but always ready to act at a moment’s notice. The tension hangs about her like a thick miasma. “I don’t see why it matters if we like him or not.”  
  
Eodwulf shrugs and lies on his side to better look at her, his lovely but grouchy wife. “Maybe not, but Caleb’s been our friend for years. I think it’s perfectly fine to take an interest in whom he’s been married to. We’re allowed to have personal opinions with each other, you know.”  
  
Astrid frowns and pulls out a book from a small pocket dimension, making a show of flipping through its pages, but clearly not paying attention to what’s written on them. “Fine. You want to know what I think? I think this tiefling’s a bad influence on him. Caleb’s already been acting different since this prince showed up. I trust Master Ikithon, ‘Wulf, you know that I do despite everything. However, I cannot help but think that there’s more going on than we know of.”  
  
“I think it’s good for Caleb to have someone who keeps him on his toes. In our line of work, we need to keep on top of things and never become complacent.” They were trained by the best to be the best, but even they can sometimes become accustomed to the status quo, sitting around on their haunches.  
  
“The war is spilling past our borders. If Prince Lucian’s marriage to Caleb can halt it for even a little while I’ll say it’s been worth it, but we can’t let our guard down.”  
  
Astrid gives him a side eye. It’s soft around the edges and lacking her typical venom. “I’m aware. I hope that it works. I truly do. I worry about what’s to come as much as anyone. I’ve seen the damage that’s been done to our Empire, and not just from this war.”  
  
Eodwulf scoots closer to his wife, and rests a hand on her arm, speaking secrets in quiet, conspiratorial tones. “If what Master Ikithon has in mind works, everything will change. King Dwendal’s become lazy in his old age. Something needs to happen, and Ikithon can be that something.”  
  
Astrid puts her hand over his and finally looks at him.There’s warning in her eyes that he knows all too well. “Perhaps so,” she says just as quietly, “but it’s dangerous for us to even be speaking of it right now. Do you know what would happen if someone were to overhear us?”  
  
“Then we won’t speak of it.” Eodwulf pecks a kiss to her cheek and rolls over. “Come on, love, we should get some rest.”  
  
He can sense her still gazing at him a moment longer, before she closes her book, and snuffs out the candles, engulfing the room in a heavy cloak of darkness.

* * *

_4th of Fessuran 335 P.D._

Wakefulness comes slowly to Caleb just as the sun’s rising, casting muted pinks and yellows across a sleepy city that's just coming to life outside the room, faintly visible through the thin cloth drapes.

Having a day off normally means he would get to sleep in a bit longer, but something’s bothering him.

The first thing he notices is the warmth against his chest. That in of itself isn’t normally all that concerning. Whenever Frumpkin is moving freely about the house he sometimes chooses to rest against Caleb while he’s sleeping, but there’s just a few problems with the current circumstance that causes Caleb to doubt.

Firstly, it’s _too_ warm, almost unbearably so, amplified by being beneath the thick blankets. Secondly, the general sensation and weight against him is different than what one could expect from a small, furry cat. Thirdly, and the most important thing to note, Frumpkin is currently in the Feywild so there's no way that it's him...

Caleb’s eyes snap open and are greeted by the sight of Mollymauk’s face an inch from his, arms tucked up between them and a slender leg hitched up over Caleb’s hip. The only thing separating them is thin the cloth of their small clothes,their nightshirts having ridden up during the night.

It takes a monumental amount of self-control to not go flailing over the side of the bed in a panicked state. Caleb forces himself to remain calm -after much needed breathing exercises- and tries to ever so gently separate their limbs without waking up Mollymauk, who whines in protest and tries to press up against Caleb as closely as his curling horns allow for.

_This is...rather inconvenient._

He stares helplessly at Mollymauk’s restful face, noticing for the first time that there’s a smattering of faint violet freckles over the bridge of his nose and across his high points of his cheekbones.

“You need to move, Mollymauk.” Caleb settles on gently coaxing him awake, trying to lift Mollymauk’s leg off him in the most non-intrusive way he can. “Neither one of us can stay like this all day.”

It takes a moment for the words get through but Mollymauk’s eyes blink open and a sleepy grin forms on his mouth. “Good morning to you too, husband. Sleep well?”

Sleep has made Mollymauk’s voice low and husky, accent thicker off his tongue, and it sends a shudder jolting down Caleb’s spine in a manner that's not entirely unpleasant.

“You still need to move,” Caleb says pointedly and a little desperately with this most recent revelation. “Please.”

With what appears to be extreme reluctance on his end, Mollymauk complies and moves away a marginal amount. The space between them, although still limited, grows cold without tiefling-generated heat. A quick glance to the fireplace reveals nothing but nearly extinguished embers. _That explains a lot._

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I like to cuddle.” Mollymauk shrugs a shoulder but genuinely appears apologetic.

“Rather like a cat, then,” Caleb teases, doing his utmost best to ignore a certain part of his body and the urge to pull Mollymauk back to him. He flips over onto his back. “But, uh, no. I am not necessarily uncomfortable.”

Mollymauk’s eyes drift downwards to Caleb’s waist. It's still covered by blankets but the telltale tenting is noticeable between his legs. “I see we aren't the only ones awake. Fascinating.”

Caleb, face on fire, adjusts himself.

It’s too early for sexually charged exchanges, and he can’t deal with it when he’s still half-asleep.  He sits up, still keeping himself covered even though it shouldn’t even matter at this point. There’s hardly a reason to be embarrassed when just last night Mollymauk, his _husband,_ saw him completely naked up close and personal. There was also that trip to the bath house after the Mighty Nein first arrived in Zadash, and the few times that Caleb openly pissed in front of him…

They really have seen an awful lot of each other, but nothing quite to this morning’s and last night’s level of intimacy

“You cannot hold that against me,” he mutters rather defensively considering that maybe he’s just being ridiculous. “It is seven in the morning. It happens to everyone.”

That tired grin grows a little bit more lewd, and Mollymauk playfully pokes at his cheek with a finger. “Maybe I wanna hold it against you. Maybe I just happen to like you against me.”

Yep, far too early.

Caleb clamors out of bed, struggling to untangle his limbs from the blankets, and makes for a hasty exit towards the bathroom. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He can hear Mollymauk’s giggling as the door closes, and Caleb rushes to the sink to splash cold water on his face in an effort to compose himself.

_Alright, Caleb Widogast, pull yourself together. Mollymauk is only trying to get your goat. It’s nothing personal. This is a completely natural reaction._

The mood from the previous evening is so different it could cause whiplash. In a lot of ways it's better, but Caleb’s overwhelmed and tired, and he just wants his body to be a little more cooperative.

He frowns down at his bits which have downright refused to settle down. It shouldn’t be a surprise seeing as it’s been a few years since he’s had anything resembling sex or even had an interest in the act, but a little bit of too close contact and flirting shouldn’t be enough to get him so ‘ _hot and bothered_ ’, as Jester would say.

Caleb scowls into the mirror above the sink and rakes his fingers through his bed head, attempting to get some part of him to listen today.

* * *

While Caleb is doing who knows what in the bathroom, Molly rolls out of bed and languidly stretches out his sleep-stiff muscles, spine arched and tail outstretched.

That has got to be the best wake-up call that he’s had since coming back.

It had been so comfortable curled up against Caleb in one of the most plush beds that Molly’s ever had the pleasure of sleeping in. Sadly, everything eventually ends, including morning cuddles with a new husband. Molly casts a glance towards the closed bathroom door, hearing the sink running.

_Husband, huh. This is going to take getting used to._

It feels more real now than it had last night. He tries out the word in Infernal, and it sounds no less strange in the hissing tones of the language of his ancestry.

 _How would it sound in Drow_ , he wonders.

Pondering if Lucian would have known, Molly finger-combs his hair and tosses the borrowed nightshirt aside. As much as he despises that person, he wants to know a couple of things. Here's hoping that if he's ever forced to meet whatever exists of his family they can understand Common because he’d be otherwise lost.

The bathroom door swings open and Caleb steps back into the bedroom.

“Do you have any clothes I could borrow until I can get mine?” Molly asks, turning to see Caleb’s pink face. “You’ve seen me naked before, dear. I can't imagine why lacey underpinnings are such a shock.”

Caleb mutters what sounds like another Zemnian swear, then adds, “I may have something. Nothing quite as flashy, though.”

Molly watches as he digs through the armoire for something suitable. “I'm glad you put on weight, by the way. You look healthier.”

“Er, thanks,” Caleb responds. He pulls out a pair of dark trousers and a simple green shirt. “Here, see if these fit. I am a bit shorter than you, though.”

Molly takes them and slides them on, finding out that they are in fact a little short on the legs. He wears them lower on his hips to leave his tail free and add length. The shirt is difficult to put on over his horns even with the lacing at the neck, but, with Caleb’s help, he manages it after a short struggle.

“It’ll work. Thanks.” Molly grins and begins the task of putting his jewelry back in place. Nose, lip, ears, horns, nipples, and navel. There's others, but there'd been no reason to remove those.

“You have more than last time,” comments Caleb in what is obviously his attempt at small talk, eyes lingering on Molly’s lips.

“Yeah, I figured if I was going to be reliving things, I needed to change a few things on me.” Molly drops his shirt, choosing not to comment on his observation. He’s tormented the poor man enough. “Nipple and cock piercings are a hassle, but I thought why the hell not. As long as I'm careful with them.”

Caleb’s eyes dart down for a split second. “I imagine so.”

Molly’s brows raise. “Does it bother you?”

Caleb blinks at the question. “Does what bother me?”

“The dresses and the piercings and the flirting?” It’s worth asking, and with Caleb it matters.

“No, it does not bother me. There are many people out there that do not conform to expectations, Mollymauk. I like you for yourself.” Caleb hesitantly smiles. “Do you have preferences?”

“Do you mean sexually, romanticly, or gender-ly?”

“Uh, any of those?”

Molly braids his hair and ties it off with a little leather strip as he talks. “Well, sexually I can find anyone alluring as long as they're consenting. Obviously. Their gender doesn't dictate what's sexy for me. Romantically I think it's the same? I'm not sure, never been in love that way before. As for my own gender, that's sort of up in the air. I'm not picky.”

The expression on Caleb’s face is soft and thoughtful as he's filing this information away. “So you do not mind being referred to as a he?”

Molly shakes his head. “Not really. I think it's my first choice actually, but others don't bother me, either.”

Caleb nods and digs out clothing for himself, robes and trousers similar to what he used to wear, but better quality. “That makes sense. I’m sorry if I am being too nosey.”

Molly waves a hand. “Nah, it’s good that you asked. If we’re married then at the very least we need to know each other more. What about you?”

Caleb hums and laces up his trousers. “I am male, and I am not adverse to any gender as far as romance and sex. Astrid, Eodwulf, and I-I have, had, dealt with those together at the Academy.”

Molly raises an eyebrow. “At the same time? My, Caleb, I never would have guessed.”

“There is much about me that you know.”

That’s sort of the problem, really. “I’m noticing. Apparently not as shy as you make yourself out to be.”    

Caleb belts his waist and pulls the book holsters on, looking ready for anything. “I do not like surprises, and I am not used to sharing my bed these days, but I do not mind sex as a concept as you seem to be asking.”

“That’s good to know.”

Caleb eyes him and snaps Frumpkin into existence. “Remember that although we are married, you and I are under no obligation of to sleep together in any way beyond sharing a bed.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. No romantics, but you wouldn’t be against us maybe doing something someday?” Caleb certainly seems to be in a better way than he was on their travels. Yay for healthy decision making. Sort of. “I’d never push you into anything. I told you that. But I like sex, and I wouldn't mind it being with you.”

There, how's that for honesty.

Caleb sighs and pets Frumpkin, looking at him instead of Molly,as his tongue flicks out to lick his lips. His expression is otherwise unreadable.“That is a complicated question, Mollymauk. I cannot say yes or no either way.”

Molly reminds himself not to be disappointed and that there’s still a lot that he isn’t in the know about. There’s still plenty that Caleb is keeping to himself and so is he. “I figured.”

“These are dangerous times. I do not want to let my guard down.” _Even around you,_ goes left unsaid.

“I know how dangerous it is. Glaives hurt by the way.” Molly leans down and pets Frumpkin, letting the softness of his fur settle him. “Sorry. Sore subject.”

“We killed him,” Caleb abruptly and seriously says. “Lorenzo, that is. I burned him to ashes in his own compound. We killed them all. We saved our friends.”

The weight hanging around Molly’s neck these past two years lifts and he sags to the floor with a relieved laugh. “Thank the Gods. I was wondering about that. Were they okay?”

Caleb sits down with him as Frumpkin weaves back and forth between them. “ _Ja._ They are strong people, especially Jester.” He’s silent for a moment. “Everyone took your death- it hit Yasha the hardest.”

Molly rubs at his eyes, blinking back tears. Frumpkin jumps into his lap and starts to purr, looking up at him with large green eyes. “That sounds like her. She's lost a lot already.”

“That she has,” Caleb goes on to say. ”She told us about Zualla.”

“I never wanted to hurt her.” Molly chances a glance towards Caleb and meets his stare. He’s sitting closer than he thought, blue eyes sympathetic, but not pitying.  

“It was so bloody stupid to take on the Iron Shepherds when we did. Down three people with no cleric, a frightened woman, and too much damn anger. I wanted to rip out Lorenzo’s heart myself for taking them away. I wasn't seeing things clearly.”

Caleb rests a hand on Molly’s shoulder and squeezes. “You saved Beauregard. You most likely saved all of us that day. We owed you.”

“And now Lorenzo is out there alive again.” He’s trying so hard to not come off as accusing, but it's true. Them killing the Shepherds means little now that things changed. “Do you plan on doing something about that, Mr. Archmage?”

* * *

Caleb knew that this subject was going to come up eventually. Mollymauk should be informed on what happened after he fell, and he should get answers for Caleb’s actions. It doesn't make it any easier to talk about.

“I want to seek them out and destroy them myself, but my duties have a stranglehold on my freetime. I’ve been keeping track of their movement as best as I can with every intention on taking care of it,” he explains.

“When you do, I want to go with,” Mollymauk growls, teeth bared. “I need that closure, Caleb.”

“I would never try to stop you.”

If Caleb had his way, Mollymauk would stay put and out of danger because, and while he may not have realized it, he's been trembling since Lorenzo was brought up. He's trying to put on a brave face, but Caleb’s own experience with masks makes it far too easy to see it for what it is.

Still, pushing Mollymauk will never work, and together they stand a good chance of taking down the Shepherds hopefully for the last time.

Their conversation winds down just in time for a knock on the door.

“You two love birds proper yet?” Eodwulf’s cheerful voice asks.

“ _Ja,_ we’re dressed.”

There's a flash of blue light from beneath the door before it swings inwards. Eodwulf comes striding in wearing casual teal-colored robes flecked with bronze, wide smile across his face at the sight of them sitting on the floor.

“You look nice this early in the morning,” Mollymauk says. He sets Frumpkin aside and stands to his feet in one fluid motion.

“As do both of you. Did you have an entertaining evening?” Eodwulf goes to sit down on the bed and seems to think better of it, awkwardly hovering near it.

“It went fine, ‘Wulf’” Caleb answers before Mollymauk has something bitingly sarcastic to say. “But we did not consummate.”

Eodwulf leans his weight against a bedpost, blue eyes fixated on the both of them. “I am not entirely surprised, neither of you looked to be happy about it. I did say to Master Ikithon that you cannot force the issue. These things need to come about naturally.”

“Will you cover for us when he asks?” And Trent will. “Please, Eodwulf.”

“I can try, but I will not be able to keep it secret forever. You will need to go through with it sometime.” His eyes go to Mollymauk. “In fact Master Ikithon has returned to Rexxentrum, but not before he told me that there's been talks with Xhorhas.”

“What kind of talks?” Mollymauk asks apprehensively. “The good kind I hope?”

“The avoiding a full scale war kind, yes?” Caleb adds.

Eodwulf sighs. “In a manner. The borders are tense, and, not to put too fine a point on it, is much like a powder keg, but nothing has lit that fuse just yet. No small thanks to the wedding, which is why there were certain demands made by the Krynn.”

“Like what?” Mollymauk’s eyes narrow. “What sort of demands?”

“That after the wedding is complete you both make a pilgrimage to Ghor Dranas to meet with the queen and help with cooling tempers,” Eodwulf says wryly. “Master Ikithon trusts Caleb, and the queen wishes to see her prince. It satisfies both, and now that the wedding is out of the way…”

Flashes of memories go through Caleb’s head, that of the Wastes, the City of Beasts, Ghor Dranas, and what they’d encountered in that strange and hostile land. Everything changed that day, long before Caleb ever twisted time to his whim.  

He’s never gone back after the Mighty Nein, only venturing to the borders when he was needed while otherwise being the one to help root out supposed traitors in the Empire proper.

“Do we even have a choice?” Mollymauk grumbles with a shake of his head, early morning sun shining off his jewelry.

“Not really. You are married to Caleb, and Caleb is both a citizen and a soldier for the Empire, an Empire that is trying to not spill more blood. This is for the greater good.” Eodwulf pushes off the post and comes to Mollymauk. “I understand that this is more than you expected when you agreed to this, but you are a valuable asset to the Crown.”

Mollymauk glowers up at Caleb’s childhood friend like he's moments away from kicking him in the teeth. “Is that why your king decided to have us be married instead of just tossing me in a cell? So that I could be a tool to be used whenever you have bloody use of me?”

Eodwulf doesn't flinch at the accusation as if he had been expecting that reaction. “You knew that it was in part to help keep the peace. This is helping to achieve that.”

In an effort to not have to explain to Astrid as to why her husband has been skewered upon a sword of carnival glass, Caleb steps up between them, putting a hand on their chests as he stares each of them down. “Mollymauk, he does raise a good point. You _did_ know that peace was the goal to this situation.”

Mollymauk’s tail thrashes, a sharp fang peaks out to bite at his lip. “Yeah, that bit, but I never agreed to actually go to Xhorhas. I figured all the politicians would handle the rest.”

“I will let _you_ handle _this_. Astrid wants to leave.” Eodwulf steps back and inclines his head. “I will let you know when you're expected to leave. Until then, feel free to decide who else you would like to take with you.”

Mollymauk is still fuming by the time they're left be, and doesn't stop swearing until he's run out of creative insults in both Common and Infernal.

“Okay, your friends are arseholes,” he finally says, sulking and playing with his dagger on his fingertips as they sit on the edge of the bed, watching the last embers go out in the hearth.

Caleb snorts. “And so are we. I am sorry that you're getting more than you wanted. I had not known about it.”

But he's not astounded that he was not told. It is much like Trent to hold back information.

Mollymauk’s gaze softens although the anger’s still burning bright in his eyes. “I'm not mad at you. Not your fault. I'm just frustrated about not having control over anything. Between this and the Matron, I'm getting real sick of being tugged around by the balls.”

“What has she done to you? Apart from resurrection?”

‘’Fuck if I know.” He swears again, sharply, in Infernal, and Caleb winces as it shoots through his ears. “And we were having such a nice morning.”

“There will be other mornings, Mollymauk,” Caleb softly points out.

Mollymauk breathes heavy from his nose. “I know, but this is our honeymoon, and I wanted to just stay in and talk.”

“There will be time for that later.”

At the familiar phrase, the tension visibly drains out of Mollymauk and he drops the dagger to his lap. “Hope so. I'm starting to think we can't catch a break. Us two fate-touched arseholes.”

That's the second time Caleb’s heard ‘fate-touched’ coming from Mollymauk. “We have some time. Why don’t you go to her temple. Perhaps you can get answers.”

“Doubtful, but I'll give it a go.” Mollymauk shrugs. “Always willing to try a new thing once.”

Caleb smiles and hefts Frumpkin up into his arms. “I like that about you, Mollymauk.”

“Us being married does mean that you're allowed to call me Molly. You always were.” He reaches out to Caleb and scratches Frumpkin’s chin. “It’d be awkward if you didn't.”

“I can try if that is what you want...Molly.” It’s worth it just to watch Mollymauk’s face break out into the widest of smiles.  

“Thanks, Caleb.”

“You are quite welcome.”

* * *

Molly leaves into the bright morning sunlight, taking a deep breath as he lets the sounds of Zadash wash over him. This morning hadn't gone exactly the way he expected it to, but since when has anything ever done that.

Marriage is going to be tricky to navigate, especially when Caleb’s shady wizard friends keep doing this crap.

He scowls up at the sky. He still doubts that there's anything that she can tell him, but at this point he’s just happy to be alone for a moment, no babysitters in sight.

“Right, okay. Let's just go do the thing,” he mutters to himself, jiggling his leg nervously for a second before taking off in the direction of the Matron’s temple.

As he weaves his way through the crowd, he catches a glimmer of blue and green amidst the other colors of Zadash. He blinks and a grin pulls at his lips.

_Well, how ‘bout that, they still ended up here after all._

Jester and Fjord smile at each other as they stop at a food cart, unaware of the eyes of a familiar friend watching them.


	8. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly stares up at the tall onyx statue of the Matron of Ravens in the Raven’s Den, eyes meeting the emotionless white mask that peers back at him.

Molly watches Jester and Fjord from a distance, longing to just run up and throw his arms around them. They wouldn’t recognize him, although he’s sure that Jester would be more than happy to oblige him. She’s so trusting and sweet, that little blue tiefling so far away from home.

“That’s creepy, you know,” Nott’s voice rings out beside him, practically startling him out of his skin. “People might get the wrong idea.”

Molly glances at her, annoyed. “So’s sneaking up on people, but that doesn’t stop you from doing it.”

Nott shrugs indifferently. “Most people don’t pay any mind to me anyhow. I don’t stand out like you do, Molly, even if you’re wearing Caleb’s clothes.”

Molly has to give her that. “Fair. Did you need something?”

“Is he alright? Last I saw him he was a little...tense.” Nott’s expression shifts from stern to concerned. “I don’t know if he’s told you, but I’d avoid Trent Ikithon if I were you.”

Molly looks back in Fjord and Jester’s direction as they walk towards the Tri-Spire, specifically the Zaubur Tower. _What’re they up to?_ “Caleb was nice enough to inform me on some of it, yeah. Real piece of work that Ikithon is.”

Nott’s mouth twists into a disgusted frown that reminds him more of the Nott he knew. “You don’t know the half of it, pal. Caleb hasn’t told me much -thinks he’s protecting me or some nonsense- but I did my own digging with a little bit of help from a scrutable monk, and what I learned isn’t pretty.”

Molly’s attention shifts back to Nott. He can find those two later. “Is Caleb in danger?” he asks in alarm.

Nott’s fingers drum against her crossed arms as she considers the question. “No more at the moment than he normally is, but you being...you, you might be. Trent has some rather extreme views on things from what I heard, not just about Xhorhas but also about those who live here in the Empire. You just might wanna keep a lookout.”

As if Molly needs any more reasons to dislike Ikithon. “Will do. We’re being sent to Xhorhas anyway.”

“What?” Nott shakes her head in disbelief. “That’s just nuts.”

Molly huffs. “I know, but we don’t have a choice. According to Caleb’s friend it’s part of my agreement when I married him. Load of bullshit to be honest.”

“That’s inconvenient.”

“No shit.” He’d rather be literally anywhere else than in either empire, but getting away, in Caleb’s words, would be a real bad idea. There’s no winning in this clusterfuck. “I’m just hoping that we’ll be treated nicely in Ghor Dranas.”

“Because of the whole prince thing?”

“Yeah, that thing.” He forgets sometimes that he’s more than just a carney with a penchant for blood magic. It's not even been close to enough time to adjust to all of the rapidfire changes to his life. Some days he wakes up and it takes him a moment to remember where he is, other times it's all too clear.

“People are going to expect you to act like a prince,” Nott points out. “Spying on people isn’t very prince-y. Or it is. I don’t know. I’ve never met one before.”

Molly scowls. “Well maybe I don't want to,” he says with a hint of challenge. “Maybe I just wanna be Molly, not Lucian, not ‘your highness’, just. Molly.”

Nott stares at him with a mixture of pity, understanding, and approval. “They won’t give you a choice on that. You’re a prince, a tiefling, and Caleb’s husband.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

There’s a sigh and Nott tugs at one of her braids, twisting and untwisting it around her hand. “I know we don’t know each other, but can I just say something?”

“You already have so you might as well continue.”

“In my village, I’m a weirdo. I’m not all that pretty, I like to collect shiny things or interesting things, and my husband is just as weird as me. It works for us. All the bullying I got used to get to me, but with Yeza and taking care of our boy, all their words don’t matter. You’re you and you have Caleb. Don’t give a damn what they say.”

Molly raises an eyebrow, but her words hit close to home. “Sage advice from a wise weirdo,” he echos her old words back at her. “I never really gave a shit what people thought about me, but right now I feel like the identity I made for myself is just being stripped away. It’s my biggest fear.”

There’s nights where he dreams as someone else. He sees that palace and all the colors that shimmer against it, the idols made to resemble the Dodecahedron, people that he may know but doesn’t remember. They all blur together. He can even hear himself talk, but it’s not the same lilting accent that he picked up from Gustav and made his own when he’d first began speaking again. It’s a little sharper and dangerous. Cold like the middle of a northern winter.

_(“Are you a good man?” Caleb asks him in another life._

_“I’d like to think I am,” he answers after too long a pause.)_

“There might be room for both,” says Nott. “Take the bits of both you like.”

When did Nott get so bloody wise?

“I’ll try.” If he wants to make it through all of this with his sanity intact he’s going to have to. “Are you going to see Caleb?”

Nott, unperturbed by the sudden change of subject, nods. “For a little bit. I can’t stay in Zadash long. My family needs me back.”

Knowing that Nott’s a mother really isn’t as surprising as it might have once been. She did, after all, once say that she considered Caleb her son. “I know I just left, but can you make sure he’s doing alright? I’m worried.”

“I will. Where are you off to?”

“The Matron of Ravens’ shrine. Caleb suggested it might help me with some answers.”

“Whatever works for you.” Nott brushes her hands over her dress. “I should get going. Don’t stalk people anymore.”

Molly waves a dismissing hand, sauntering away. “No promises!”

* * *

The house is too quiet without Mollymauk’s -Molly’s, he reminds himself- presence, and the persistent scent of lavender lingers in the spaces where he’s been. Caleb stares at the rumpled sheets like they're a perplexing mystery that he must solve. All of this was was supposed to be, not simple exactly, but _easier_ than what it’s turned out to be.

There’d been no accounting for feelings to be involved, and yet they’re there, lurking in the back of his mind. It’s not love- he’s not capable of it. However, there’s that attraction that he’d first noticed on their way to Silvia’s and when Molly had walked to him in that full wedding garb. It’s more than he wants or deserves, but he needs to admit to it either way because it’s there and it’s going to pose a real immediate _problem._

Caleb’s still tense from his wake-up call this morning, only made worse by Eodwulf’s proclamation. Not only is there this little attraction problem, but now there’s also a trip to a hostile nation, one that would be more than happy to see his head on a spear for the atrocities that he’s committed in the name of the Dwendallian Empire. He got lucky the first time.

_You chose this,_ a cynical little voice remarks, _you willingly threw yourself into the fire._

The Gods will have their dues, and the Matron of Ravens is slowly but surely making him pay. His only regret is that Molly is being used as a part of it.

Caleb groans and rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He needs to stop thinking or he’s going to make himself sick. He breathes in slowly through his nose and out through his mouth the way that Caduceus taught him, centering his mind to keep the panic at bay. It takes time before it goes away, but it does.

The lavender adds to the calm and he reminds himself to ask what Molly wears that produces the scent. Apparently he could use it. Caleb rises from the bed and lumbers down the stairs to the kitchen. Food, food’s good. Eating is a great distraction. He’ll just do that and worry about the rest after.

He’s halfway through preparing a simple porridge when Nott comes through the doorway.

“Hey,” she greets, “I ran into Molly on the way over. He told me the news. Are you really going to Xhorhas?”

Caleb wearily sighs. “Evidently so,” he says, strained. “All part of the negotiations.”

Nott makes a face. “Ugh, why can’t they send someone else?”

“Because that is where Mollymauk was born, it is his country, and so it makes sense to send him and his husband there to help.” if help is indeed what they do, and not cause more harm than good. “Would you rather the war get worse?”

“No,” Nott retorts, not harshly but there’s worry that adds a sharpness to it, “no, I don’t want that. I don’t want you to get killed there, either though. Especially for someone you only just met.”

Caleb slowly stirs his breakfast. “I think that Trent would have sent me either way. If not me, then Astrid, and while she is subtle, she’s not meant for niceties.”

Nott still frowns at him. “So there’s no way to get out of this?”

“No, there is not.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Caleb chokes on a spoonful of porridge. “You are doing no such thing. You need to get back to Felderwin and to your family. You should not be putting yourself at risk in Xhorhas.”

Nott draws herself up to her full height. It still isn’t much. “Now you listen here, Caleb Widogast. I’m a grown halfling woman who makes her own choices.” She pokes him in the chest. “I said I would help you and I will.”

He stares at her, aghast. “I never meant like this. You are not supposed to draw attention to yourself. What if Trent-”

“Well, fuck him,” Nott mutters. “Unless he’s going with us, he doesn’t have to know.”

“But others will.”

Nott grumbles. “I’ll disguise myself, then. You taught me magic, I should get to use it out in the field.”

Caleb closes his eyes. “Very well. You can...come with.”

“Good. Who else is coming?” Nott asks now that that matter has been settled.

“I do not know yet. You, myself, Mollymauk.”

“What about the grumpy monk? The one you talk to sometimes.”

“Beauregard? I suppose that it could not hurt.” Caleb can’t avoid his old companions anymore even if he tried, and he had. At least he knows that they’re reliable, Beauregard especially. “She would not be good in diplomatic situations.”

Beauregard of before had learned, but this one hasn’t come that far just yet. Although, it might do her some good to get out there and try. He’ll just make certain that he’s there on standby should she make a mistake. Caleb really wishes that Fjord was here.

“She could kick anyone’s ass,” Nott says.

“That she can.” _I’ve seen it for myself. Woe betide those who suffer the wrath of Beauregard._

Nott helps herself to the pot of porridge. “When are you going?”

“After I eat. I would be no good before then.”

Nott snorts. “That’s true.”

Caleb smiles wryly at her and tucks back into his food.

* * *

Molly stares up at the tall onyx statue of the Matron of Ravens in the Raven’s Den, eyes meeting the emotionless white mask that peers back at him.

“And here I am,” he murmurs to her. He doesn’t expect any kind of answer, let alone one coming from behind him.

“Yes, here you are,” a rasping voice says from behind him. He turns quickly to see another tiefling, gray skinned with a long tumble of black hair between a pair of curling horns decorated in simple silver jewelry. They’re dressed in the long black robes of a mortician. “Sorry if I startled you.”

Molly affixes a smile onto his mouth. “It’s fine. You’ know, you’re the second tiefling that I’ve seen today.”

The mortician chuckles. “Indeed? There’s not many of us so far north. We tend to stand out.” They turn their attention to the statue. “The Lady said that you would show up today.”

“Did she?” Molly watches as a large raven lands on the statue’s shoulder and mournfully caws before flying down to the gray tiefling who pets it gently with long thin fingers. “What’s your name?”

“Kairon,” they reply. “I only just arrived from Tal’Dorei a short time ago. My Lady thought I should be here when you came. You needed a friendly face after everything that you’ve been through these last two years. Dying can be quite trying. I know from personal experience.”

Molly shivers. _What an unnerving person._ “Does she speak to you often?”

Kairon fondly smiles. “Sometimes. When she thinks it necessary. Mostly she trusts my judgement as I trust hers.”

Molly’s familiar with the sentiment as far as the Moonweaver goes. She never actually spoke to him, but he felt her presence. In regards to the Matron it’s harder for him to say. He’s never had a God take personal interest in him before.

“And she’s kind?” Molly questions earnestly. “I, uh, don’t actually know much about her.”

Kairon hums a little as they pet the bird. “I think so, but I know that there is a large amount of misunderstanding when it comes to her. People fear death as a concept, and she is the embodiment of the moment it comes to them. It’s natural.”

Mollymauk Tealeaf, a person who has died twice and holds onto that knowledge, trying to make the best of what he can in his limited time, understands why they feel that way. “I don’t know what she wants from me. Not really. Her Champion is the one who did the talking.”

Kairon nods, watching the raven as it glides over to Molly and lands on his horn. “Yes, he does that. He’s the ferrier of souls, the one who gives them comfort at their end. He may be her weapon, but he’s also her empathy.”

“What do I do?”

“I would suggest seeking communion with her, but sadly we lack a pool here.” Kairon frowns in irritation and crosses their arms. “The Empire is _staunch_ in what it allows. Religion is regulated and made to be nothing but lip service. At any rate, you can always meditate here. I'll make sure that you’re left alone.”

Molly turns his eyes up at the raven. “I’ll give it a try. I haven’t meditated in a while. Might be out of practice.”

Kairon gestures to a small pillow that’s been set out at the feet of the Matron’s statue. “Please.”

Molly slowly shuffles over to it and drops down into a comfortable cross-legged position. He’s used to having some sort of focus when he does this kind of thing and it takes him a moment to slow his breathing, letting everything fall away as he allows his mind to drift. In his head he sees the dark void that he’d woken to and the thousands of golden threads cast about, forming a spiderweb.

The air around him is colder than the winter wind of the Empire and he wraps his arms about him, looking about for any sign of life.

“Mollymauk Tealeaf,” a low feminine voice echoes around him. Slowly, a white mask appears out of the darkness, framed by long jet black hair. “You have finally come here.”

“Sorry it took a while. I’ve been busy,” he says snarkily, falling back on his defenses.

The mask remains expressionless, but he can hear a bit of humor in her voice, however faint it is. “I have noticed this.”

Molly swallows. “What...did- am I doing this whole thing right?”

He can’t read her as she peers down at him from her impossibly towering height. “There is no right or wrong to this. Your only goal is to return Caleb Widogast to the right path.”

“But what is the right path?” Molly blurts out in a burst of desperation. “What did he do?”

The Matron’s head tilts towards him. “As one of the fate-touched, his and your possibilities are endless. What the right path is is dependant on you. He changed the world when he cast his consciousness out and by doing so he entwined your fates. What might have been before is no longer there and yet the same remains its own ways.”

A pang of impatience goes through him. Why all this speaking in circles? Is it that hard to give a straight answer? “Ah,” he says instead.      

“It will make sense in time,” she appeses him. “Until then you will face challenges that will test the strength of your will.”

Molly falls and wakes back in the graveyard with a gasp.

* * *

It’s a bit of a walk from the Tri-Spire to the Cobalt Reserve, but the weather is decent for this time of the year so Caleb takes his time, wrapped up in his old coat and nondescript clothing. He could disguise himself with magic so that he’s even less recognized by the people who pass him in the streets, but it’s a waste when he’d just be walking back later.

He politely smiles and nods at those who greet him. There are days when his status isn’t so bad, when he can just be himself and not have to look over his shoulder all the time just in case someone from his past sees him. Then other days he wants to crawl into a hole and stay there.

He walks into the library and is immediately greeted by one of the monks working there. “Hello, Master Widogast, is there something that you need today?”

“Uh, _ja,_ is Beauregard in?”

The monk peers at him for a second, then nods. “She should be. One moment please.”

Caleb stands there, letting the silence fill his ears and basking in it. He should come here more often just to get away from the sounds of the city. His eyes scan over the shelves of books that he can see and he inhales the scent of old paper that permeates the air around him. _This is nice._

Soon enough the monk returns with Beauregard in tow.

“You needed me?” Beauregard asks.

“Is there anywhere that we can speak alone?”

Beauregard’s eyes narrow a little suspiciously and she sighs. “Yeah, I know a place, come with me.” She leads him to a small, unoccupied office-like room and shuts the door. “What’s wrong?”

“You and your fellows have already heard that myself and my-my husband-” he stumbles over the words for a second- “are being sent to Xhorhas to speak with the Bright Queen?”

Beauregard relaxes more with less ears around, leaning casually against the door. “Yeah, some of us have. What about it?”

“While some Crownsguard will no doubt be sent along with as an entourage, it was suggested that I bring people with me that I trust can act as protection. I am sure you know that despite the peace talks, there is still a chance of an attack on our party.”

“I do.” Beauregard eyes him over, looking for something. “You want me to come with I take it?”

Caleb gives a nod. “I do. If you can be spared from your other duties.”

“I probably can. There’s enough monks around here that they don’t need me.” She pushes herself upright. “Do you have any others in mind?”

“I have another friend of mine- Nott. She is very capable. Who else would you suggest?”

Beauregard thinks for a moment. “There’s two people from the Coast that I met a while back. One’s looking into Solstyce Academy, actually. Both are pretty capable themselves, especially the cleric.”

Caleb tries not to look surprised as his heart jumps. “Well, that _ist gut_. Can you introduce me to them?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I just got off the clock.” They leave the confines of the room and make their way out of the building, back onto the bustling streets of Zadash and the chilly air. “They’re staying at The Leaky Tap. I dunno if they’re actually there or not. Jester wanted to visit the Tri-Spire district.”

“We can try there first, then look elsewhere.” It’s difficult to keep himself calm, but the time for running is over. He can do this.

They take their time, Caleb keeping an eye out for familiar blue and green, and try The Leaky Tap first to no avail. They’re as Beauregard said they might be: out. The two of them loop around to the Tri-Spire, and near the Zauber Spire he sees the flash of Fjord’s green visage, Jester’s blue beside him as she excitedly points up at it.

“Hey, guys!” Beauregard shots in their direction. “Wait up!”

Caleb rubs at his ringing ear. “Is it good to shout?”

Beauregard gives him a smug smile and a shrug. “It gets their attention, doesn’t it?”

Caleb looks at her balefully for a moment before turning his eyes to Fjord and Jester. They walk towards them at a brisk pace.

“Hi, Beau!” Jester says brightly, waving her arms and tail in unison. “We’ve been trying to get in the Tri-Spire district, but those stupid guards won’t let us past.” She notices Caleb and grins. “Who’s your friend?”

“Caleb Widogast.” He holds out a hand.

Jester takes it in her strong grip and shakes it. “I am Jester and it’s very nice to meet you, Caleb!”

Caleb doesn’t fight his smile. “ _Ja,_ you as well.”

Jester finally lets go and Fjord steps forward. “Fjord, pleased to make your acquaintance.” He gives Caleb a lookover, pausing on his robes. “You don’t happen to be a mage, do you? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“I am. Beauregard did say that one of you were trying to get into the Academy.” He hates having to play stupid after everything the four of them have gone through together. “I assume that it is you.”

Fjord, none the wiser for Caleb’s inner thoughts, gives him a smile. “It is. Well, I’d like to. Jester thinks it’s a good idea for me to try since I’m sorta new to all of this.”

_I’m sure you are,_ Caleb muses. “I actually have a question for the two of you. I am looking for those who are willing to help me and one other make a trip through Xhorhas to Ghor Dranas. You would be paid well, and I am even willing to help you with your magic if you would like.”

“I’d be coming with,” Beauregard pipes up. “And I can definitely say that Caleb’s trustworthy enough to keep his word.”

Jester is positively beaming up at Fjord. “We should totally do it, Fjord. We can get money, and you can get a teacher!”

“Those are good points, Jes,” he agrees, thoughtful expression on his face. “But Xhorhas is awfully dangerous. Could we maybe think about it for a day or two?”

“Of course.” Caleb looks over Fjord’s shoulder and calls out to the Crownsguard stationed at the gate. “Let these two pass, please.”

“Thank-you,” Fjord says with surprise and gratitude.

“When you two make your decision, please stop by the brick house in the fancy house area,” Caleb tells Jester at her starstruck expression. “You are not required to say yes. This is purely your choice. When you do come by and I am not there, I will make sure that there is someone to receive your answer.”  

He can tell by the looks on their faces that they’ll say yes, but he still wants them to have their own choices. He won’t drag them into this without them.

* * *

Meanwhile across town Molly’s trying to catch his breath as all the sounds and colors return to his senses after his meeting with the Matron of Ravens. It takes him a series of long moments before he can form words.

“That was...harrowing,” he tiredly drawls. He pushes himself slowly to his feet, staggering there.

“The first time is always the hardest,” Kairon says sympathetically.

Molly can only bark out a short laugh. “Yeah, that’s what they always say. Ugh, I don’t want to do that again.”

“We don’t always have a choice. I hope that she was able to lift your spirits somewhat.”

“A little, but it was all _vague_. As usual, I don’t think half of it made sense.” The only thing he got out of it was that his and Caleb’s past and future was so vastly intertwined that only he could help him. As much as he cares for Caleb, Molly can’t help but feel a little...bitter? Maybe bitter isn’t the right word, but he’s having some trouble thinking at the moment.

Kairon places a slender hand on Molly’s shoulder. “It takes time, but it will become clearer. Just think on what she said.” They look up at the sky. It’s become cloudier than when Molly had arrived, foretelling a possible rainstorm. “I also think that perhaps it’s time for your to head home. Even people like us can get sick from standing around wet for too long.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll do that.” The raven on Molly’s horn caws and flies off over the buildings. “I think he had the right idea.”

Kairon smiles and steps back into the shadow of the shrine. “Please come by whenever you wish.”

Molly nods and heads in the direction of the Tri-Spires as he tries to make sense of it.

_Well, Caleb, I’m beginning to think all of this was inevitable._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kairon is a Grave Domain cleric of the Raven Queen I created for a friend's Tal'Dorei campaign. I couldn't resist having them make a cameo. They're a spooky child :')


	9. The Tangled Web of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions grow and tempers flare on the evening before the long road to Xhorhas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how was everyone's weekend? Anyone else watch Game of Thrones yesterday? That was just about the most stressful episode that I've watched in a while.
> 
> Anyway, here's chapter nine, and as usual I appreciate every little kudo and comment thrown my way. This story is my child.

Caleb finds Nott and Molly at their house not long after his reunion with Jester and Fjord, Beauregard having abandoned him not long after for some monk business or another. The two are deep in conversation in the sitting room with Molly sprawled on the floor and Nott curled up on the small couch. They look up when he enters. Already he can that something’s off.

“I did not expect to see you back so soon,” Caleb tells Molly, taking note of the slight tension in the air. “Were you successful?”

“Molly was just telling me about the weird tiefling cleric he met,” Nott interjects like it’s the most interesting thing in the whole of Exandria. “Apparently they were from Tal’Dorei.”

“That is unusual,” he agrees, meeting Molly’s eyes. Travel to and from Tal’Dorei by non-magical means is quite the challenge, leaving Wildemount isolated from the rest of the world, although skyships are far more easy to come by than they once were. “And what was this strange tiefling cleric doing all the way over here?”

Molly sits up and rests his chin on his knees, arms and tail wrapped around his long legs. Hair tumbles over his narrow shoulders, framing his face lit by firelight. He’s still in Caleb’s clothes and his own wedding boots. “They were there for me.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow, confused. “For you? What for?”

Molly’s eyes flit from him to Nott. “Hey, Veth, you mind leaving for a moment? I need to talk with Caleb. Privately.”

Nott sighs dramatically and hops off the couch. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

When he’s sure that she’s gone (and not invisible), Caleb takes her spot and gives Molly an expectant look. From this new angle he can see the toll the visitation must have taken on him. “What happened, Molly?”

Molly drums his fingers against his legs, working his way to his words which come spilling out past his lips.“I have something I should probably admit. I wasn’t going to mention it because it seemed a little counterintuitive to my mission, but fuck it, I’m tired of secrets. I should be able to be honest with my husband, right?”

“Mollymauk?” Caleb reverts to his full and leans forward to look closer at him. “What is it?”

“I might have omitted some of the details on why I was brought back.” Molly mirthlessly laughs, head dropping into his hands. “Ah, you're probably used to me doing that by now. I was always good at lying.”

This time Caleb moves down to the floor, sitting himself right in front of Molly and taking him gently by the shoulders. Molly’s hair is soft against his fingers and he itches to run his fingers through the curls to calm both of them down.

“Mollymauk, you are rambling. No one lies better than I do so do not judge yourself too harshly.”

“Yeah, there’s that. We’re gonna need to address that, too. Don’t think I forgot.” Molly clears his throat. “Vax’ildan told me the day I was sent back that my goal was to get you on the right path. I had no idea what he meant by that, and today the Matron kindly reminded me about it. Except she also says that the path is whatever I make of it, and that our fates are intertwined because of what _you_ did.”

Something falls in Caleb’s stomach. It may be his heart, but it's still beating like a frantic bird in his chest. “I am sorry, Molly. I had no idea that you would be dragged into this.”

Molly grins without any true mirth, fangs peeking out from his curled lips. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you go fucking with time. Things change and people get into messes, especially those important enough for the Gods to intervene.”

Caleb isn’t sure what possesses him to act on it, but he closes the space between them and presses his lips to the space between Molly’s horns, deliberately mirroring what Molly had once done to him. He feels Molly’s warm breath puff out against his neck in surprise as he pulls back.

“Is that an apology because I’m feeling a little bit forgiving,” says Molly, some of that anger tempered for the moment.

“I should not have done that.” But he certainly did.

Molly scoffs with a roll of his eyes. “Caleb, we’re married. I think you’re allowed to kiss me all you want, anywhere you want. I couldn’t be more consenting.”

Caleb shakes his head. “ _No,_ we need to focus. _I_ need to focus. We are leaving for Xhorhas, and we have no idea what might await for us when we get there. I refuse to put you through more than necessary.”

Molly pulls out of his grasp and jumps up, looming over Caleb who remains knelt at his feet like a knight to his Lord. It’s not too far off base when considering that Molly technically outranks him in social status now. “Stop it. I know what you’re trying to do and I’m stopping it now. _Stop blaming yourself for every little thing!”_

Caleb gapes up at him, but is quick to school his features, and slowly climbs to his feet. He’s still shorter than him even at full height. “I am only being truthful. This is my fault, all of it. My mistakes are what lead me here to make more mistakes. I should never have messaged you.”

Molly glares, tail ticking back and forth. “We’d still end up here because they’d still have you marry me. What would you have done? Pretend to be ignorant?”

“Yes, I would have if it meant keeping you free from anymore of this.”

Molly’s hands clench and unclench at his sides. “I don’t need to be protected. I’m capable of doing some stuff on my own, you know that. I get to decide on what I do, Caleb. Maybe some shite is out of my hands, but what I can control I will, including what and how exactly I get to help you.”

There’s nothing Caleb can say that will fix this, not now that a God has decided that Molly’s important. Then again, Molly’s _always_ been important and it was well before the Matron intervened. “I do not deserve you, Mollymauk.”

Molly defiantly lifts his chin, lip curled in the barest hints of an arrogant smirk that makes him appear every inch of the royal that he’s supposed to be. “I’ll be the one who decides that, not you. We’re married, you stubborn arsehole. We carry burdens together. Accept it.”

Of course he’d make this difficult. “I am sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

Molly gives him a hard side eye. “I wouldn’t mind another kiss.”

Caleb’s face warms. Right. “Do not get ahead of yourself.”

Molly snorts and pats his tail against Caleb’s cheek. His expression is still cool despite his teasing, and he walks out of the room. Caleb is quick on his heels, trailing to and up the stairs behind him.

The moment they set foot in the bedroom, Molly marches over to the travel bag sitting on the bed, digs out his old clothes, and starts to strip.

“When do you think we’ll be leaving?”

Caleb peels his eyes away from the delicate curvature of Molly’s tattooed back. “Sooner the better I imagine. I spoke to Beauregard, and you will be pleased to know that Fjord and Jester are now involved.”

Molly looks over his shoulder as he pulls on his leggings. “I know. I saw them earlier. I take it they were easy to convince?”

Caleb nods stiffly. “They were. I’m still not sure that this is the right idea. I should have found someone else to travel with us, but I trust them. Am I a fool?”

“You’re the most intelligent man I’ve ever known, Caleb Widogast.” Molly turns fully to look at him. “I know that I probably know you the least out of everyone, but I know that much. I think you’re making the right call.”

Caleb closes his eyes. When he opens them, Molly is standing in front of him again. “I hope you are right. I’ve made too many mistakes. I will never be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to them.”

“We won’t let them get hurt again.”

* * *

Molly doesn’t see much of Caleb after their conversation. He disappears with Nott into town and by the time he’s come back, Molly’s already sleeping. He can recall hearing his quiet footsteps and the rustle of fabric followed by a weight on the bed sometime in the middle of the night.

Molly thought about what they spoke about and the small kiss in the hours before he’d gone to bed, confused and angry. Caleb may be the most intelligent man that he’s ever met, but he’s also the most ridiculous one, too. If only Molly had the power to lift all the guilt off of Caleb’s shoulders.

Unfortunately, there’s not much that he can do about that once Caleb’s dug in his heels, refusing to move. They're both alike in that way.

Molly finds him in the morning, sitting at his desk and pouring over a book. He brushes a hand over his slumped shoulders and leans in close to his ear. “Riveting read, is it?”      

Caleb jumps. “ _Vas?_ Oh, Molly. _Guten Morgan_.”

Molly raises an eyebrow and peers down at the scrawled text written on the book’s pages. He can’t make heads or tails of any of it, not that he's ever been a proficient reader. “Yeah, good morning to you, too. You were out late.”

“I did some work at the Zauber Spire,” Caleb replies with a awkward smile. “I should have let you know beforehand.”

Molly shrugs a shoulder. “It’s fine. I just worried that you were mad after our disagreement. I’m glad I was wrong. Did you get an update?”

“We leave shortly. Do you think you could alert Yasha?” Caleb slowly rises out of his chair and stretches out his back with a low groan. Something pops between his shoulder blades. “I assume that you told her what was going on? You have your own clothes again.”

Molly sighs again and watches Caleb. “She won’t be able to go with us. God business came up again. She promises that she’ll be back soon.”

He’d been disappointed. More than anything he’d wanted her with him as he confronted a past that he’d wanted nothing to do with. He didn’t beg her, he understands that she has her own path to follow and that sometimes it takes her away from him. It still sucks, but he can deal with it like an adult.

Caleb gives him a truly sympathetic look. “I know she will. I will be sure to let our companions know that she may be joining us later. I have no idea how long we’ll be expected to remain in Ghor Dranas.”

“Too long,” Molly childishly grumbles, earning a head shake from Caleb. “The waiting is worse. I’ll just be happy to get this over with and put this bullshit behind us. I’m sure the queen of Xhorhas is a nice person, but I would rather make this visit short.”

“She is. Mostly,” Caleb replies. “We, uh, met her.”

Of course they did. Just another thing that Molly missed out on during his dirt nap. “That’s good I guess. Is she as old as they say she is?”

Caleb pulls out his Bag of Holding and begins to toss in various articles of clothing and books for their trip. “She is over a thousand years old. You recall what the Krynn agent said in the sewers, _ja?”_ When Molly gives a nod, he continues. “The peoples of Xhorhas have a method of reincarnation should they die near the Beacon. Their souls are reborn in another body and after fifteen years the memories of their past lives start returning to them. Queen Leylas Krynn has lived several.”

Caleb’s words scratch at Molly’s brain, something familiar. “Consecuted…”

Caleb pauses and turns to look at him, a crease between his brows. “You know that word, then?”

Molly slumps into Caleb’s chair, burying his head in his hands. “I do. I think- I think Lucian was supposed to be reborn when he -when _I-_ died that first time. I guess something went wrong? Or he did it wrong, or I don’t know.” He gives a disbelieving laugh, choking on it, and pulls his hands back enough to rubs at his temples. “Gods, I never thought that I’d want to ask Cree anything, and now I feel like I need to.”

Caleb slowly approaches Molly, like he's a skittish animal, and crouches down in front of him. “We can find her if you want. She may be in town.”

Molly looks up at him and traces the constellation of freckles over Caleb’s cheeks with his eyes, using them as a way to remain in the now as his mind reels with old but faint memories. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I _want_ to know what she can tell me. Would she even know where Lucian came from?”

“Then we will wait until this trip is over with.” Caleb reaches out, hesitates, and then takes one of Molly’s hands. He runs his fingers over the chaffed and scarred knuckles, peering down at them.

Molly chuckles. “You’re a lot more comfortable with this sort of thing. When did this happen?”

Caleb continues his ministrations, turning Molly’s hand palm up and tracing over the lines like he can read each and every one of them. There were some people in the circus that claimed to be able to tell a person’s future just by how long or short certain lines were. Molly wonders what Caleb sees in his. His lifeline must be terribly confusing.

“It took a while, but I became comfortable with closeness, and...revealing myself,” Caleb admits. “Once I...changed things I fell back into my old ways. Until you, of course.” He looks up, thin lines forming around his eyes as he blesses Molly with one of his rare smiles. “You really are a cat. You cannot bear to not be touching someone.”

Molly’s face warms and he ducks his head in an almost unheard of display of bashfulness. “It helps. After I came back the, uh, the first time I needed constant reminders that I wasn’t dead. It sorta became a habit. The second time was easier.”

Easier, but no less traumatizing.

“I think I can understand that,” Caleb replies softly, fingertips dancing over Molly’s palm. “Grounding can be important, or so I was told.”

Oh, how Molly wants to kiss him. He wants to wrap his arms around Caleb’s shoulders and pull him in so close that he can feel every inch of him. He wants to press his back against the bed and show how much he cares. There’s a warmness in his belly that’s curling like silk, threatening to overwhelm his better judgement.

 _There’s not supposed to be romantics,_ he tries to so hard to remind himself. They haven’t known each other all that long _,_ but every day they spend together in each other’s company, the more Molly simply _wants._ He’s never done anything by halves, he throws himself into everything like it’s going to be his last day in this world. Caleb isn’t like that, he’s far too cautious, and Molly can’t find it within himself to blame him when the cruelness of the world has left its mark on them both.

His breath hitches in his throat when Caleb’s fingers brush against the sensitive pulse point in his wrist. The man is so very unaware of the effect that he’s having on him, and how Molly is using every little bit of his willpower not to do something monumentally stupid. He has no idea what’s going on in Caleb’s head, he lost as he is somewhere in the mire of his thoughts.

And Molly’s trousers are becoming a little too tight for comfort. He curls his tail around the leg of the chair and tries not to move too much as his breath quickens. A soft groan escapes him despite his best efforts and only then does Caleb finally look up at him.

His eyes go from Molly’s face to the space between his legs, and he drops his hand. “I did not intend-”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Molly licks his lips and crosses his legs, unable to keep himself from squeezing them together. “I should have warned you. Again, I’m pretty into touch, and, uh, it can...do...things to me.”

Caleb’s face is bright red from the tip of his ears to the bottom of his neck. “I like to touch,” he says like it's a sudden revelation and likely not meaning for it to sound the way it does.

_Oh. Oh, don’t tell me that._

“I should probably… Excuse me.” Molly stands up and stumbles towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut and leaning against it with a hand pressed to his chest. The other shakily undoes the laces of his leggings. He doesn’t do anything else but stand there, listening to his breathing slow to a manageable level.

 _You could just fuck him,_ a naughty little voice tells him, _get it all out of your system. Don't need romance for a roll in the sheets if he's willing for a little fun._

He won’t do anything unless Caleb is the one that truly makes the first move. Until then he’s just gonna have to deal with it himself. That won’t stop the air around them from getting a little bit tense, though. Caleb’s touch is as fiery as his magic, and even with Molly’s resistance he’s afraid that he’s going to burn up from it.

He groans again and sinks down to the ground, sliding a hand over his inner thigh. It’s not quite the same, he thinks miserably, and there’s no appeal. While he’s had no problem getting off to the thought of certain people in the past, it doesn’t feel right to do it to Caleb. He trails a finger a little bit higher and tips his head back against the door as a shuddering breath escapes him.

“Dammit,” he mutters into the air, giving up on his half-hearted efforts. Molly gloomily stares off into the distance as his body slowly calms down once it realizes that nothing's going to come of anything.

This is going to be the longest marriage of his life.

* * *

Things aren’t going much better for Caleb on the other side of the door.

He’s a little too aware of what’s occured between Molly and him even if, in the end, all its led to is a large amount of awkwardness, much like their first morning together. Incredibly uncomfortable, but no harm done.

Caleb’s sensing that perhaps a _little_ bit of harm was done this time, though. Molly’s face had been full of painful longing; eyes hooded, lips parted, and a healthy flush across his cheeks. It was as if Caleb had hung the moons in the sky. Never in a thousand years could he ever believe someone capable of looking at him in such a way, not after Astrid, and if he hadn’t witnessed it for himself he never would have believed it.

He’d grown used to Molly’s flirting, and, hells, he had expected it, but this is a different kettle of fish.  

Caleb summons Frumpkin and sits down on the bed. “What do I do about this?” he asks him under his breath.

He’s saved from having to answer when the bedroom door creaks open and Nott’s head appears, peering in.

“I hope I haven’t interrupted anything,” she says, her gaze sweeping the room just in case. When she only sees him, she steps inside. “Your two wizard friends are on their way. I passed them on the street.”

Caleb gives her a thin smile. Astrid and Eodwulf are not exactly at the top of the list of people he wants to see just now. He can probably guess at the purpose of their visit. “Thank-you, _Spatz.”_

Nott eyes him. “What's wrong?”

Of course she could see right through him. “Can we speak in the other room?”

“Of course, Caleb.”

He leads her to the parlor as his brain tries to find the best way to explain the situation without telling her about the whole time travel aspect of his and Molly’s relationship. It’s going to be hard enough coming out and saying that contrary to Caleb’s previous belief, Molly does want to sleep with him, which as it is, is a whole new problem for him to contend with.

 _And do I want to sleep with him?_ He asks himself as he sits down, anxiously jiggling his leg. He once made the mistake of relaxing and getting close to his friends before he’d gone and fucked it all up. It hadn’t been romantic, or sexual, but the sentiment is similar. To befriend or to sleep with requires that closeness that he’d grown to love and appreciate on his adventures with The Mighty Nein.

The truth is that he still craves it.

That he saved Nott from a tribe of goblins and speaks to Beauregard often is that very proof, despite telling himself to put distance between them. Well, the joke’s on him. Clearly.

“Caleb?” Nott’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

“My husband wants to sleep with me.” he blurts out in a jumble of words that leave his mouth before they can be stopped.

Nott just stares at him, one dark brow lifting in confusion. “They typically do. Why’s that a problem?”

“Because it is dangerous. I have this...job. And Trent. And Molly is determined to coddle me.” But isn’t Caleb doing the same? Molly already expressed his annoyance with that. “I am afraid that if I get too attached something bad will happen, and it will be my fault.”

It’s too late for detachment. He burned that bridge some time ago.

Nott shakes her head. “I warned him about Trent and you did, too, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with caring for him and wanting to be happy with the situation you’re in.” She lifts a hand and fiddles with the necklace of buttons hanging around her neck. “You can be careful and have a happy marriage.”

“You are very wise.”

“I’m also in a marriage to a good man. Molly seems good for you. He’s nice. A little weird, but nice.”

“We are all a little weird, Nott.” And soon their little group of weirdos will be together again, even if it’s different than before. “But I think you are correct; he is nice. Far nicer than I feel I deserve most days.”

Both of them look to the stairs as Molly comes down them, looking less frazzled than he did when he’d bolted for the bathroom. He avoids looking Caleb in the face when he takes a seat beside him, tail curled around his own ankle.

“What did I miss?” he asks in a soft voice.

“Astrid and Eodwulf are on their way here.” Caleb opts to go for a half-truth. Molly doesn’t need to know that they were talking about him, but he gets the feeling that he suspects it anyhow. “They may be coming to tell us when we’re leaving.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Molly fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “Are they...coming with us?”

“I do not know. Possibly.” That would makes things difficult. Caleb thinks of the Beacon hidden in his room. Giving it back had been a risk that had paid off. Well, for the most part. That was not to say that there weren’t complications, but it can hopefully ease tensions in this time. Molly shouldn’t be the only factor for this hesitant peace, if one could even call it that.

Molly grumbles in Infernal beneath his breath, no doubt saying something rude. “I would say I’m surprised, but that would be lying. Ikithon wants to keep an eye on us, doesn’t he?”

“I would imagine so.”

“Doesn’t trust us,” mumbles Molly. “He thinks that the moment we set foot in Xhorhas unsupervised we’ll turn on him.”

“He has his reasons for thinking that.” Caleb hasn’t helped assuage any of that doubt, either. Astrid wasn’t entirely wrong when she said he’d been acting different lately, namely since Molly appeared. He needs to work on that, or otherwise put them both at risk by his own slip-ups. Another complication…

“Perfect.”

“It was an oversight on my part. I will hopefully make it easier once they see there’s no reason to see us as a threat.”

Molly casts him a disbelieving look. “Caleb, not only am I a tiefling, but I’m, apparently, also Xhorhasian. I don’t think they’ll trust me even at my most charming. And I’m pretty fucking charming. I should have known that my _babysitters_ wouldn’t be dropped after the whole marriage thing.”

“It is not your fault, Mollymauk.”

Nott reminds them of her presence by clearing her throat. “If we could save the couples therapy, we do have to deal with your friends.”  

“Sorry,” Molly grouses.

“You should find somewhere to hide until they leave. Might be for the best.”

Nott stands up and dusts off her dress. “Good idea. I just wanted to give you a heads up in case you were...busy.”

Caleb gives her a small, weary smile. “Thank-you.”

He’s not exactly looking forward to this trip.  


	10. The Road More Traveled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins and promises made to hopefully be kept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took so long. Between bad brain days, turning thirty, and getting blocked, I've had a busy month. I'll try not to take so long for the next.

He’s _not_ particularly happy about Eodwulf and Astrid’s presence when they show up at the house later that evening, and he sits quietly as they talk unless directly addressed, which only Caleb does. Nott has disappeared to somewhere else in the house. Lucky girl. He’d rather be where she is and not in the middle of the travel discussions, constantly under Astrid’s less-than pleasant scrutiny.

He finds himself constantly pinned under her gaze, her lips pinched in what he can only assume is disapproval. Caleb told him that Astrid hadn’t always been the ice queen that she’s coming off as, but he’d find that hard to believe. He’s just happy that she’s not the one that’s going with them on their little journey to the hostile land of Xhorhas.

Not to say that Eodwulf is any better. He’s less dour than his wife, but after Molly’s various encounters with him, he’s found that there’s something...off about him. Molly doubts that Caleb can see through it -he appears to be on better terms with the dark-haired mage- even if it’s right in front of his face. Eodwulf’s aura essence is dark even if hidden beneath a facade of pleasant politeness.

Molly considers bringing it up to Caleb at some point. Perhaps he can put his mind at ease. Maybe not. There’s no way of telling how he’ll react to the question. Good, bad, who knows.

The meeting lasts too long in his opinion before the plans are finalized. Eodwulf will be going with them, along with former members of The Mighty Nein and a small contingent of Crownsguard for additional protection.

“They may not be fighting us right this moment, but the Crick are not to be trusted,” Eodwulf goes on to say, using the same slur that so many in the Empire use. “It’s better to error on the side of caution. Even if they do not do anything, there are still plenty of beasts that would.”

“And what are you planning on doing, Astrid?” Caleb asks, polite despite the way his hands clutch at the handle of his tea cup. It gives away just how tense he actually is. “I thought that you might join us for this.”

Astrid smiles and sips her own tea, looking at them over the edge of her cup. “I am better at spying than diplomatic work. I have work elsewhere.”

Caleb nods. “Right.”

Molly sighs and uncrosses his legs. “I don’t like this.”

“No worries, your Highness. You will be well protected. I doubt that your...kind would do you any harm.” Astrid stands, brushing her hands down over the long heavy fabric of her robes. “My husband will make sure that you arrive in one piece.”

Molly raises a skeptical brow. “Wonderful. I feel so much safer already.”

To his surprise, Astrid gives a small sigh and eyeroll. It’s the first time he’s seen an emotion beyond disdain on her face since they met. “He is as strong as he looks. Trust me.”

Molly won’t do that any time soon, but he nods anyway. “Delightful as this has been, I’m going to my room. I’ve apparently have a long trip starting tomorrow.”

It’s not even really all that late, but his visit with the Matron of Ravens and his little _talk_ with Caleb have left him emotionally drained. He’s going to take a nice long bath, ease out some of that tension (and not think of Caleb, thank-you very much), and sleep away his troubles even if tomorrow will likely bring more of them.

He’s just tired. He’s been tired since the day he crawled out of his grave.

* * *

_5th of Fassuran 335 P.D._

They leave bright and early the next morning, officially two days into their marriage. It’s of no surprise to Molly that Caleb is the first one up, having received a message from Jester, letting him know that she and Fjord are definitely coming with them. The news is enough to keep Molly from complaining too much at being woken up before he wants to be.

Even better, Yasha shows up at their door, bag slung over a broad shoulder. “I am coming with you.”

Molly stares at her, his hair a mess of frizzy curls that he shoves out of his face. “I thought you had god stuff.”

She smiles and steps past him. “It turns out that this is part of it.”

“Thank the Stormlord for that, then. I didn’t want to do this without you.” They both pile into Caleb’s modest kitchen to find him and Nott already packing up rations. “Look who gets to come with us.”

Caleb gives her a genuinely pleased smile. “That is good. I am glad to have you with us.” The words no sooner leave his mouth and there’s a excitable knock at the front door. “And would be the others.”

“You should go get it before Jester knocks it down.”

Yasha gives him a curious look. “You know this person?”

“Uh, sorta,” Molly lies. “I’ve been told about her. She’s a strong cleric. I’d say she’d give you a run for your gold.”

A playful twinkle dances in Yasha’s eyes. “We will see.”

Molly snorts. “What all did you bring?” he asks, nudging at the bag.

“I bought something for you. It’s traditional to bring a gift for the newlywed.” She digs around in it and pulls out a long tapestry adorned with the Platinum Dragon. It’s beautifully gaudy, but more importantly it’s the very same one that Molly once owned. “I saw this in one of the shops. I thought that you would like it.”

“I love it.” Molly reverently takes it into his arms, emotion building in his chest at the rush of memories. He fights them back ash trails his fingertips over the embroidery. “I hope that you didn’t pay too much on my account.”

“I managed to talk the owner down,” she says. “When I told him the reason that I wanted it, he gave me a discount.”

Molly sniffles and pulls her into a hug. “Thank-you, Yasha. This is everything.”

Nott, until now mostly ignored by the two, speaks up. “I guess I should have brought Caleb something.”

“You can get him something on the road?” he suggests, reluctantly pulling away from Yasha and putting the tapestry back into the bag. “Better late than never.”

Nott stares at him a moment, looking for something that he can only guess at, then shrugs. “That’s true I guess. I'll look.”

A beat later Caleb returns with Beau, Jester, and Fjord in tow, and Molly’s smacked in the face by nostalgia. Seeing them now and not from a distance, or in the middle of being interrogated, makes it feel all the more real. Things might be different now, but at least they’re together again.

Jester coos over Frumpkin when he comes trotting over to investigate the newcomers. “What a cute kitty!”

Caleb smiles, eyes lighting up with immediate fondness. “ _Ja,_ he’s very cute.”

“So, when do we get this show on the road?” Fjord asks as he looks around the expensive-looking kitchen that they’ve gathered in with a mix of discomfort and eagerness.

“Just as soon as we are done with the food. It is going to be two weeks of hard riding from here to Asarius.” Caleb pulls out a folded map from his coat pocket and flattens it out on the counter for everyone to see. “We will be taking the most direct route there, but keeping to the roads as much as possible.”

Molly curls around Caleb’s side and peers down at the battered bit of parchment. The locations they’ll be stopping at have been marked: Berleben, Hupperdook, Bladegarden, Ashguard Garrison, and finally Asarius.

“Why is Asarius the last one marked on the map?” he asks curiously. They probably discussed it when he was still in the room yesterday, but to be honest, he’d tuned out after a while.  

“There is a teleportation circle there that will take us directly to Ghor Dranas,” replies Caleb, not looking up. “Or rather Rosohna. The name that the city goes by in the present.”

“Oh, right. Astrid mentioned that, didn’t she?”

“She did.”

They’d be met with Krynn soldiers when they passed over the border, acting as guides and to ensure that nothing untoward happened in their lands from ‘Imperial dogs’. Molly’s not sure if he should be understanding or not regarding the hard feelings towards the Empire. He’s been an outsider for so long that now that he’s important to both sides he doesn’t know where his sentiments stand.

Guess he’ll find out.

It’s not more than twenty minutes later when Eodwulf appears to usher them to the city’s northern gates. When they get there four Crownsguard are there waiting for them with horses.

“I assume that you all have everything you need. We will be stopping only when necessary,” Eodwulf warns them with a wry grin. He’s abandoned his usual robes for simple travel clothes, similar to Caleb’s but keeping with the black and green he seems to favor, and his hair pulled back into a practical ponytail. He looks over their little group. “I hope that you're capable fighters.”

“We’re _very_ capable,” Jester retorts with a flirty smile that only grows when Eodwulf blinks at her. “We’ll make sure that Caleb and Molly are protected.”

Eodwulf raises an eyebrow. “Alright,” he says with an air of doubt, then swings himself up onto his horse.

“I don’t think he believes me,” Jester pouts as Fjord helps strap her bags onto the horse that she’s chosen.

Molly takes care of his own things, not that he has much. “You just have to prove him wrong.”

Jester beams over at him. “Thanks, Molly. Are you really a prince? You look like one.”

Aw, Jester. “That’s what they tell me.”

“You don’t know?” Fjord jumps in as the rest of them finish their preparations and mount. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Molly shifts in his saddle, aware of Caleb’s eyes on him beside him. “It’s, uh, complicated. If we have time I’ll tell you the story.” Some of it, anyway.

“Move out!” calls Eodwulf above their chatter, effectively ending the conversation.

They move forward as a unit, out past the gates and onto the Amber Road, then to Rillway Road that will lead them to Berleben. It’ll be a day or two of travel, if Molly’s a good judge of distance. He’s not looking forward to being in that swamp again, but hopefully it’ll be a quick trip this time with no troll to deal with.

* * *

“I hate road trips,” Beau grumbles a few hours in, looking up at the cloudy skies that’s going to dump rain on them at any moment. “I mean, I don’t like sitting in one place, either, but I’m gonna get saddle sores.”

“Will you be more of an arse if you do?” Molly snips, falling back into the old days like they never left them. “Because I don’t think we wanna hear about it.”

Beau glares at him. “Keep it up, and I’ll be kicking _your_ _princely_ _one._ ”

Caleb sighs with a shake of his head. “Can’t we have a nice, quiet trip?”

“No such thing,” Molly says at the same time Beau bites out: “No promises.”

Jester giggles, and Molly thinks he can hear Eodwulf rolling his eyes a few horses ahead of them.

That’s day one.

* * *

The night is equally uneventful when they hunker down on the side of the road for a rest. They’d been given simple military tents to sleep in, nothing fancy, but did serve the purpose of keeping the chilly rain off of them while they did. Caleb spent most of that first night staring up at the ceiling while Molly with curled up beside him.

The sleeping arrangements are different on the road, but he’d expected that. With he and Molly married they would be sharing all of their rooms on this long journey. He’s still not used to it. It’s not bad, but he’s surprised each time he looks over and sees a head of purple hair and curling horns instead of an empty space or Nott. He reminds himself that it’s only been two days. He’ll adjust, and if he doesn’t there’s always separate rooms later.

“You gonna keep staring?” Molly asks drowsily at some point during the night, catching Caleb off guard. “Not that I mind.”

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” Caleb turns his gaze upward. He can hear the Crownsguard on watch moving outside. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Molly cracks open an eye. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

“I cannot sleep,” Caleb admits, rolling over to face Molly. He never noticed before that his eyes glow a little in the dark. “I keep forgetting that this not like before.”

“I know the feeling.” Molly scoots closer and gives a little sigh. “I missed being out here, though. You know me, I don’t like being in the city for long. I get antsy.”

“I know you do. I doubt that you are excited for where we are going, however.”   

“I don’t know how I feel. I’ve only ever known the Empire. The circus never traveled out of it. Either time. I want to see new places, but this wasn’t how I thought I would be seeing them.” Molly lowers his voice. “How was it like there?”

“They’re not so different from you and I. They have their own lives. They shop, they have families, they work. It’s a harder life, and they can be rough around the edges, but they are not how the Empire teaches us that they are.”

“That’s good.” Molly pauses. “What about the Queen?”

Caleb chooses his words carefully. “She can be cruel like our king can be, but she is only looking out for her people. I think that she’ll treat you well.” Perhaps not himself. He’s not a deserter of the Empire, but one of its prized wizards. In their eyes he’s a murderer who forcibly married their prince. They may not care what the circumstances are.  

“Ya know, I have no idea if she’s my mother or not. No one ever told me.” Molly pulls a little closer, his knee brushing against Caleb’s as he seeks closeness. “Am I just a prince, or am I _the_ prince? I dunno. Do you?”

Caleb shakes his head. “I do not. I wish I could tell you.”

Molly goes quiet, and for a moment Caleb thinks that perhaps he’s fallen back to sleep, but then he speaks up again. “I always thought of Gustav as sort of a father. He’s far from perfect, but he taught me a lot. The whole circus did. Having a mother, though? That’s different. I never really considered the possibility.”

Caleb thinks of his own mother and father and where they might be right now. Do they remember him despite his efforts? “Are you happy?”

Molly twists a lock of hair in the dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of firelight through the canvas walls. “I don’t know. I don’t think I am. Not because of you, of course. You’ve been a delight. But this isn’t where I thought I’d be. I have a god breathing down my neck, and the Empire ready to take my head if I make even the tiniest mistake. I don’t want to be the reason for the war getting worse. I’m just one person.”

“You are correct. This should not have happened, but whatever does happen from here on out I will help however much that I can. I have a feeling that our friends will, as well.”

“They don’t know me, Caleb. I’m a stranger to them.”

Caleb reaches out and pulls Molly against his chest. “The Matron evidently intended on us all crossing paths again. You will not be a stranger for long. Just be your charming self and they will adore you.”

Molly chuckles weakly and curls against him. “What an odd world this is.”

“ _Ja.”_  Caleb breathes in lavender and sandalwood and finds himself slowly drifting off, listening to the sound of Molly’s breathing.

_What an odd world indeed._

* * *

_6th of Fassuran 335 P.D._

Day two is nearly as uneventful as the first. Anyone who would try and attack their party is inevitably put off by the Crownsguard traveling with them, and any monsters wouldn’t dare to come that far out into the open road with so many armed individuals. By the time they reach Berleben, Caleb almost wishes that something would happen.

Molly rides near him, looking as bored as the others do. He glances in Caleb’s direction. “I never thought I’d look forward to that bloody swamp. Will miracles never cease?”

Caleb snorts. “Are you saying that you would love a band of highwaymen to attack us?”

“Maybe. I know that Beau looks like she could use someone to punch. I’m half tempted to push her into mud just to give her something to do.”

“I do not think that would go well for you,” Caleb points out wryly. “She would kick your ass.”

Molly gives an indifferent shrug. “At least it’ll be better than riding eight hours without anything happening.”

And that’s a fair point.

Thankfully, Molly doesn’t get to cause a fight to break out as they reach the swampy town of Berleben, still smelly and bug-infested, and mostly sinking into the muck at the Puddles side of town. They stay at the Stilts, Eodwulf choosing one of the few ‘nice’ inns for them to sleep in that night. It’s better than sleeping on the road.

Instead of adventuring out, the group once known as the Mighty Nein drink down in tavern and chat amongst themselves. There’s no need to kill a troll and speak to the dead, or find loot taken by fish people for the Gentleman, whom in this lifetime none of them have spoken to. Although, Caleb is tempted to see if Kiri can be saved from the swampy predators.

“Just leave it be,” Molly sighs when he’s asked for his opinion. “I sincerely doubt your friend wants to have a stray kenku in our party.”

“Did you not like Kiri?”

Molly hmphs into his mug of ale. “She was...fine. She managed to survive so I guess that’s something. I thought for sure that she was going to die with everything we did.”

“That’s rather fatalistic of you, Mollymauk,” Caleb gently teases.

Molly looks to their friends, happily chatting away at a nearby table, completely oblivious about what is being said. “We could barely keep ourselves alive, let alone a child. Hell, we didn’t even manage to keep me alive. Not that I blame you for it,” he adds at Caleb’s guilty wince.

“Come on, let’s go sit with them. We can be glum later.” Caleb holds out his hand.

Molly takes it. “I guess I owe everyone a story, anyhow.”

“What will you tell them?”

“Everything but the twice-dead-back-in-time thing.”

“You were not thrilled with telling them about your past before.”

Molly takes a long swig of ale, cringing at the watery taste. “It wasn’t under my own terms. I didn’t like being reminded about what I was missing, or who I might have been. The truth is what you make of it. There isn’t any reason to lie about it now. Well, that part of it. I...can’t tell them _everything.”_

Just like Caleb can’t. “You do not have to tell them anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Molly’s detached expression softens. “I know. And you’d back me up, wouldn’t you? But this is my choice, and it’s better they hear it from me, then from whatever awaits us later.”

Caleb tilts his head curiously, lip twitching. “And _that_ is very mature of you.”

“Nah, I just don’t want it to be awkward later.”

They take a seat with the others, and Molly goes into his past. Of course, he omits the part about already knowing them and the time travel, but the parts that are true that he’s allowed to say are laid out into the open.

It’s extremely vulnerable for Molly to put himself out there, and even Nott and Beauregard, who know more than Jester and Fjord, treat his story with respect, although Jester is excited by it. Yasha, sits at his right side, her hand on his shoulder for support. By the time it’s over, Molly looks emotionally spent while everyone else is staring at him with varying levels of interest.

“It’s like a fairy tale,” Jeater sighs, her eyes alight with awe.

“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,” Molly quips. “Doesn’t feel like one to me.”

“But you spent the last two years with a traveling circus, only to find out you’re a lost prince and end up married to a powerful mage. It’s romantic!”      

Caleb suspects that Molly doesn’t see it nearly as romantic, but there’s still a little smile on his lips.

“That’s one hell of a story,” Fjord cuts in, carefully steering Jester. “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”

“He has,” confirms Caleb. He pats Molly’s hand under their table and feels his tail wrap around his ankle. “This has been...stressful. My mentor has not been exactly sympathetic to his plight, either.”

Fjord scratches his chin. “Yeah, I’d imagine so.”

Molly crosses his arms, slouching further into his chair. “I don’t want any pity. I only told you this because I wanted to be how you found out, not by some other person with biased opinions.”

“Understood.” Fjord nods. “Thank-you for telling us, Molly.”

Beauregard squints at Molly from across the table. Caleb can see her mentally filing away this information for later, or rather the parts that she did not already know from their first meeting in the King’s Hall. “Yeah, thanks,” she says blandly.

“I’m sure you guys can understand why I’m,uh, a little apprehensive about this trip.” Molly frowns at his empty mug, organizing his thoughts. “I don’t wanna be doing this, and I don’t want it to come back to you in some bad way should shit go south in where we’re going.”

A chorus of ‘yeahs’ sound from the other four. Yasha hasn’t left Molly’s side any more than she has to since they left Zadash, looking ready to fight anyone who would come off as even a slight threat towards him. Molly leans against her shoulder.

“You should get some sleep, Molly,” she tells him gently.

“I know. I’ll go now.” He slips out of the chair and gives the table an exaggerated bow. “With that, I say goodnight.”  

“Goodnight, Molly,” Jester shouts, waving her arm as he makes his way to his and Caleb’s room.

Caleb waits a moment longer before following, feeling every pair of their companion’s eyes watching him as he does. He knows what they’re thinking, especially by the little ‘ooh’ Jester gives. He really doesn’t feel like explaining.

Once they’re both in the room, Molly flops onto one of the beds. “That went well.”

“They would never think badly of you.” Caleb sits at the edge of the bed. “You did well.”

Molly raspberry’s the air dismissively. “Ya know, I’m pretty certain that Nott hated me back when. Or however the fuck you keep track of time. Fjord thought I could help him with his weird magic sword stuff, Beau’s always Beau, and then you...I don’t know much about you.”

“Nott did not hate you. She and I did not trust anyone at the time. We all had our shit.”

Still do, really.

Unless something else has changed, Fjord still has his pact with a demigod, Jester has the Traveler, Yasha and the Stormlord, and Beau’s grudge with her family. Only really Nott, Molly, and himself are at different places.

“Yeah, I know. You looked one wrong move away from running away.” Molly looks down his nose towards him. “Look, we should really make time for conversations that need to be had.”

“We have been talking.”

Molly snorts. “You mean that we’ve been talking circles around each other.  I was honest with you, Caleb. I came clean about why I’m here. You should, too.” He sits up and takes off his coat and doublet, then starts unlacing his boots. “You said that you ran because you were scared of Trent because he's a terrible person who put crystals in your arms and that you wanted to save your parents from whatever they needed to be saved from, bu is that all? Be honest with me, would you?”

“When we get back I promise to tell you everything.”

Molly’s right, he does need to be honest. He was with the others. Eventually. And they took it as well as one could expect, maybe better.

Jester had been...hurt by his past actions, but she’d forgiven him, and Yasha had understood him the most. Caduceus had gently suggested that he continue to make up for past mistakes and do right to those he’d harmed. Fjord, well, he’d taken it the hardest what with family being so important to him, but even he’d eventually come around. They’d told him, as Beauregard and Nott had, that what he’d done was fucked up, but it wasn’t all his fault.  

Caleb had almost come to see that over the course of their journeys, but after he’d run it’s been harder. Maybe once Trent is dealt with he will finally, _finally_ forgive himself. Unlikely, but stranger things have happened.

Molly tosses his his boots aside and strips off his coat. “Come on, come lay with me for a little bit. Unless you’d rather be in your own bed.”

Caleb considers turning him down, but ends up going to the other bed anyway and meticulously removes his coat, books, boots, and tunic. He lays down on the outer edge, leaving enough space between himself and Molly once the other has lain on his side, head propped on his arm.

“Alright, Widogast, I’ll hold you to that,” Molly warns him with a wry quirk of his lips. “When we get back we let everything out into the open. Skeletons and all.”

That’s a lot of skeletons.


	11. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he'd asked for some action this wasn't what he'd had in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live?

_8th of Fassuran 335 P.D._

 

They leave Berleben at the first light of dawn after a rather lackluster breakfast that none of them are overly thrilled with, but keep their complaints mostly to themselves. Molly’s perfectly happy to leave the swampy, bug-infested landscape and doesn’t look back as they ride off down the Gravelway Road in the direction Hupperdook. There’s nighttime partying in his future, and he chuckles at Jester when she excitedly talks to Beau about it, discussing what part of the rumors are true.

 

Molly gives his sage advice, recalling the children that they’d gone out of their way to help. “Whatever you do just make sure you leave your purses elsewhere. Crowded bars filled with drunk people is the perfect hunting ground for sticky fingers.”

 

He’s not mad about that -what kind of person would blame children for just trying to survive- but this isn’t the time for going into a prison, killing a death machine, and freeing a pair of prisoners. Once he’s finished with this shite he’ll do everything that he can to make up for not doing anything now. He’s royalty and married to a powerful mage surely that gives him some sway, right?

 

Nevertheless, the guilt chews at his insides while he tries to convince himself that he’s making the smart call.

* * *

_12th of Fessuran 335 P.D._

 

The five day trip is as unadventurous as it had been on the way to Berleben, and by the time they reach Hupperdook Molly is longing for something, anything to happen. He misses bandits, monsters, and doing a little good for people and earning a bit of gold in the process. He shouldn’t miss the danger that comes with those, but he does. He feels no different now than those fancy rich folk that sit on their arses all day and he doesn’t particularly love it.

 

Maybe they should do that prison job after all...

 

At least there’s drinking and beds that aren’t on the ground, he thinks when they finally pass into the industrious city, looking up at the smoke billowing out of smokestacks of the various factories and listening to the ringing of metal on metal. There’s less war machines being built due to the brewing war being put on hold, but that doesn’t mean that there’s none. Everyone’s waiting for the inevitable to happen and it's only a matter of time before it does.  

 

Eodwulf encourages them to be careful around the city in case they run into a threat and makes it clear that he’d rather they not go running about, spending coin and getting drunk once the sun goes down.

 

“Look, I know how to have fun,” he grumbles at Jester’s pleading puppy dog eyes that’s giving even a mage of the Empire a problem with declining. “When not on business I would be more than happy to have a drink with you all, but if something were to happen to Caleb, or His Highness, because I let my guard down, it would be my head that Master Ikithon would be taking.”

 

“He is not wrong,” Caleb confirms as they make their way towards the Blushing Tankard. “It may be best to try and keep things contained.”

 

Jester sighs, blowing up her bangs. “Your boss is no fun, either. Do you get days off?”

 

Caleb shrugs, eyes forward. “A few here and there. We’re meant to be busy.”

 

Beau jumps in, taking the opportunity to needle for information being presented. “And aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?”

 

Molly sees the flush crawling over Caleb’s cheekbones, lips twisting a little in discomfort as he hunts for the right response. “ _Ja,_ but there is no rest for the wicked. Keeping the peace is more important.”

 

They’re carefully selected words within the earshot of Eodwulf and the members of the Crownsguard -that by this point look as anxious for this to be over with as the rest of them. With Molly, Jester, and Beau’s constant needling and teasing as a way of finding amusement during the long eight hours a day ride before camping, he almost pity’s them. Not enough to actually stop, but it’s the thought that counts.  

 

Which brings the attention to his relief that Jester’s been keeping the Traveler stuff secret when it’s not just the Mighty Nein around. She may come off as flighty and silly to those who would judge a book by its cover, but the girl’s got a solid head on her shoulders. She’s far from stupid, and he almost forgot how much he loves her company as they chat back and forth in Infernal, earning themselves suspicious glances from the Crownsguard escorts.

 

“ _I wish that they’d stop looking at us like that,”_ Jester says to him. She sticks her tongue out at the back of the men’s heads when they’ve got their backs turned to them. “ _We’re allowed to talk, aren’t we?”_

 

 _“Ah, little Jester, don’t you know that we’re scary when we talk like this.”_ The rasping, hissing syllables slide off his tongue like barbed wire. It’s wonderful to have someone to talk to in the language that comes most natural to him again and actually understands it. “ _I think we should do it more often.”_

 

Jester smiles and bobs her head in agreement. “ _I think so, too.”_

 

Their group reaches the Blushing Tankard just as the whistles blow and the fireworks shoot into the dark blue velvet sky, signifying the end of the workday. The streets are filled with gnomes, dwarves, and other folk making their rush home and to pubs for an evening of revelry.

 

Molly doesn’t watch them so much as he watches the reactions of the party, how their faces light up in excitement in the glow of blossoming fireworks and golden yellow lantern light, and almost like a moth to the flame, he searches for Caleb’s face amongst them.

 

His eyes are an inky blue-black in the night, lit up ever so often when a firework goes off and casts shadows over his soft features. His hair is loose around his face and there’s a smudge of dirt on his nose that makes him look a little more like the wizard that Molly had first met another lifetime ago.  

 

 _“Molly, what are you looking at?”_ Jester asks. She follows his stare and a sly grin appears. “ _Caleb looks really pretty, doesn’t he?”_

 

He could lie and change the subject to how she’s been making cow eyes at Fjord the entire ride here, but he instead settles for a bit of honesty. “ _Yeah, he is. I guess I got lucky, didn’t I?”_

 

She gives him a curious look, large eyes searching his face with innocent curiosity. “ _Are you happy, Molly?”_

 

Everyone wants to know that. Apparently. “ _At the moment. It comes and goes, but I think Caleb makes me happy.”_

 

For all the trouble that he’s caused him, Molly’s happiest with him even when they argue. It’s different from when he’s with Yasha, or Jester. They’re both wonderful people who he’s, in fact, given his life to protect.

 

Caleb is pure magic; cinnamon, camfore, and heat across skin; a thing that Molly’s already dangerously close to falling for. He’s so delightfully reminded of this every day he wakes up next to him.

 

Not that Molly’ll be saying that to his face anytime soon, but it's there in the back of his mind.

* * *

They don’t participate in the Hour of Honor, much to the disappointment of all. Caleb promises that they can on the way back after Eodwulf’s gone off to his room, effectively leaving them to their own devices.

 

“You better keep that promise,” says Beau, watching with a scowl as the other teams drink themselves sick for a large sum of coin. “We’re staying more than one night, too. This is my vacation, too.”

   

“Here, here.” Molly takes a hearty swig of his ale, the one mug that he’s allowed to have thanks to Eodwulf’s orders. And here he was thinking that Caleb was the higher up. “I’d like a day free from Crownsguard breathing down my neck.”

 

“Agreed,” Fjord rumbles, lifting his drink in a toast. He’s the politest among them and even he’s had enough of it. Not that he will say anything bad about their entourage to their faces any more than the rest of them will.

 

Caleb and Molly share a look, and Molly decides that next time they’re gonna party like the world’s ending and no one’s gonna stop them.

* * *

After their drinks, everyone scatters out into the city to explore, taking the advice of leaving most of their coin back in their rooms.

 

Caleb watches Molly as they wind their way around the people that are milling about the streets, most already drunk, or heading towards home.

 

“Where are you going, Molly?” he inquires, trying to keep up with Molly’s brisk pace.

 

“Flowers!” Molly says, his tone lighter than it has been all night, aided with alcohol and a cheerful party atmosphere. He ambles along and as he does so, reaches back and grabs Caleb by the end of his sleeve. “Try and keep up, dear!”

 

“Your legs are longer than mine, I am at a disadvantage,” Caleb points out with a wheeze of laughter that bubbles up unbidden from his chest.  

 

Molly slows and slings his arm over Caleb’s shoulders, the scent of ale and lavender wafting off of him and mingling with the other smells around them. Even so, it’s easy enough for Caleb to pick out which ones belong to Molly. “Sorry, got ahead of myself.”

 

Caleb slouches under his arm, face warm. “You appear to be in a better mood.”

 

“A little bit. I’m determined to enjoy myself tonight,” he replies matter of factly, “I might not be able to drink much, but I’m buying myself something nice.”

 

“And fake flowers are nice?”

 

“All flowers are nice. The gaudier the better.” They find their way to the flower stand and pick up a fair few strings of them in all available colors. Molly piles them into Caleb’s arms and even playfully twins a string into his hair. “I like this look.”

 

Caleb shakes his head. “I think that they suit you far better than I.”

 

Molly gives him one of his cat-like grins, tail swishing away and nearly smacking a gnomish woman on the back of the head. She glares him his direction, but he doesn’t bother to notice it, eyes too homed in on Caleb.

 

 _“_ Well, I think you look lovely with them. Don’t try and talk me out of it.” Molly reaches out and adjusts each petal, fingers lingering overly long. “Come on, I think I see the others. Beau’s getting firecrackers.”

 

Caleb’s tugged along by the hand towards them as he lightly touches his crown of flowers in a daze.

* * *

_14th of Fassuran 335. P.D._

 

They make good time after their night in Hupperdook, traveling by the Crispvale Roadway to Glory Run Road, but neither Caleb or Molly enjoy it, really. There's far too many bad memories associated with the route, especially when the whispers of individuals going missing during the night reaches their ears.

 

“You will be fine and so will they,” Caleb tells Molly when they settle down in their tents for a evening’s rest. “There’s a Crownsguard out there now, keeping watch. Nothing will get past them, and anyone stupid enough to try will not last long.”

 

Molly strips down to the bare minimum amount of clothing that he can get away with in polite society and slides down into his bedroll, his swords close at hand. “Oh, I know that, but the worries are still there, you know? The last time we were here three of our friends were taken, and while I know that everything was taken care of, that’s the last thing I remember.”

 

Caleb closes his eyes and sees Mollymauk’s lifeless body by the side of the road, the expression frozen on his face is one of defiance, blood drying at the corner of his lips and across his still chest. “That will not happen again, not while I have any say in it.”

 

When he opens them again, a living, breathing Molly is there looking at him with a pinched frown. “Do any of us really have a say in anything?” he asks softly, momorsely. “I feel like a piece being pushed around by someone else's hand.”

 

“ _Ja,_ we do.” Caleb refuses to let anyone control him again, not Trent, not Astrid and Eodwulf, or anyone. He may be a piece of shit, but he’s a piece of shit with his own agenda. Not even the Gods can sway him.

 

Keep his friends and husband alive and in one piece, take down Trent and the rest of the corrupt Cerberus Assembly members, and fix his mistakes. He’s done some work, but there’s plenty more to come, and this time he’s not going to run. He considers as Molly’s breathing levels out beside him. There’s the nature of the other problems that may have to be taken care of as well, like Fjord’s patron and what comes with it, retrieving Caducus in order to help him with the situation of the woods, Yasha’s God stuff, and, of course, the Iron Shepherds need to be taken down.

 

That’s all assuming that they are still going to happen in this timeline.

* * *

It’s just past midnight when the sounds of yipping and high, long howls wake Caleb from his slumber.

 

_That’s not good. I know those sounds._

 

He blinks in the darkness and rolls over to look at Molly, and sees that he’s awake, sitting up on his elbows.

 

“Please tell me that's not what I think it is,” he bemoans, pushing himself upright and reaching for his swords.

 

Caleb sighs and pulls on his book harness from where he’d left it before bed. “I'm afraid it is. We are close to the Ashkeeper Mountains.”

 

“Did they have to do this now, though? Why can’t things happen when I’m awake...” Molly’s quick out the tent flap, drawing a long, thin line of blood across his shoulders. His swords light up with a practiced twist of his wrists. “Let's get this over with.”

 

Caleb staggers out after him and can already see the silhouettes of their companions in the relative darkness of the night. Flashes of magic light up the area, giving him more to see by, especially as Jester hits a gnoll right in the chest with a streak of a Guiding Bolt, sending it staggering away from her with a pained yip.

 

Subconsciously, Caleb’s eyes scan the landscape for Molly and watches as he slices through fur and flesh with a downward strike. He jumps back from a claw attack that nearly nicks his bare chest and Caleb’s heart skips a beat.

 

“Nice of you to join us,” Beauregard shouts over the sounds of battle and punches a gnoll hard enough to break teeth.

 

Beside her, Fjord shoots out an Eldritch Blast at one of gnolls that’s going for Jester, knocking it back a good foot. “I  regret wishing for some action,” he calls out in Caleb’s direction, expression calm despite the chaos ensuing around them.

 

“How many are there?” asks Caleb. He digs into his components pouch at his hip amd starts to cast a Chromatic Orb. Gnolls aren’t worth wasting a higher level spell on, and there’s enough Crownsguard around to make the task a quick one.

 

“A dozen or so,” comes Eodwulf’s response from several feet away. He’s following Caleb’s suit by sticking mostly to cantrips and allowing the Crownsguard and the Nein to do the bulk of the heavy work. That’s not to say that he’s not lethal with what he uses; there’s a flattened gnoll by his feet and another soon to be on its way out. “They caught the watchman off guard.”

 

“Is he alright?” Caleb flings a Firebolt in the direction of a snarling gnoll that’s shot an arrow in their direction. The smell of burnt fur fills the air.

 

“He is fine. Just some minor damage that your cleric took care of.” Eodwulf nods in Jester’s direction.  “You had a good idea bringing this lot along.” Molly cuts down his gnoll and is immediately running towards another. “Even your husband is an adequate fighter.”

 

Molly dances across the battlefield from one enemy to the next, his movements filled with practiced grace. He sticks closely to their friends just in case, watching their backs if they should have something creep up from behind them. There’s a few minor scratches across his chest from claws and a cut across his cheek from a stray arrow, but it’s all superficial at worst.

 

 _“Ja,_ that he is.”

 

They fall into old habits, even those that don’t remember what things had been like. The little band of misfits once called The Mighty Nein work together like nothing has ever changed, like Caleb never changed the course of time.

 

Jester summons a giant lollipop and bashes the gnoll in front of her over the head with it hard enough that is yelps and falls to the ground head first, Fjord stays near her and sends out Eldritch Blasts towards the one going for Beauregard’s shoulder. She gives him a nod and punches it across the throat with a satisfactory crack. Yasha grits her teeth and slashes at her own opponent, downing it in a spray of dark blood. Nott shoots a bolt from a distance, hitting it in the eye before she ducks back into the tent.

 

Eventually Molly comes over to Caleb’s side, breathing hard and covered in gore, but grinning and invigorated. “You alright?”

 

“I am good. Are you?”

 

Molly looks down at himself. “Mostly yeah. Nothing to worry about, though. I do worse to myself.”

 

Caleb opens his mouth but doesn’t get a chance to comment as everyone gathers back together to assess for anything worse than a few cuts and bruises.

 

“Here, I’ll fix everyone right up,” Jester says. She motions and a spray of healing magic warms them, wounds knitting shut as if they’d never been there. “Good as new.”

 

“I think we can get back to bed now,” Fjord yawns, but he gives her a fond smile. “Thank-you, Jester.”

 

She grins up at him, all pride and girlish adoration for the man that she’s smitten with. “No problem, Fjord. I’m the healer.”

 

Caleb watches it with Molly while he cleans his blades. “Some things never change.”

 

“Did they ever…?” Molly suggestively waggles his eyebrows.

 

Caleb coughs out a small laugh. “It was touch and go, and growing to be done first. Jester has a lot of love in her heart. She’s too good for this hard world.”

 

“Alright, assholes, I’m going back to bed,” Beauregard announces, making her way back to the tent that she, Yasha, and Nott are sharing. “See you at a more civilized hour.”   

 

“That’s a good idea,” Fjord surveys the gnoll-littered grounds around them. “ But we should take care of the bodies first.”

 

“The men will take care of things, do not worry,” Eodwulf informs them, setting the Crownsguard to work with a snap of his fingers. “An ambush of some sort was expected eventually. We prepared for it.”

 

The four Crownsguard get to it without protest, gathering up the burned, bludgeoned, sliced, and pincushioned gnolls into a pile a good distance from the side of the road and setting it ablaze. The smell of burning meat isn’t a pleasant affair, and Caleb’s nose crinkles at the uncomfortable familiarity with it.

 

“You sure you’re alright?” Molly peers down at him, the hand on Caleb’s arm holding tightly to his coat. “You’re not...bothered by it, are you? Like before?”

 

“A little, but I doubt that I will have an episode if that’s what you are concerned about. This situation is...different.” Caleb gently pulls his arm away. “Come on, we should try and get back to sleep. We need to make it to Bladegarden as quickly as we can.”

 

Molly gives him a last dubious look and follows him back into the tent.

* * *

_16th of Fassuran 335 P.D._

 

Bladegarden sits at the base of the Ashkeeper Mountains, the final city in the Empire before the Ashguard Garrison and, finally, Xhorhas. The streets are filled with Righteous Brand and Crownsguard alike, all eyes on alert for the slightest sign of threat. They step carefully aside as the party makes their way through, their eyes falling onto the lavender tiefling in colorful clothing that’s far too aware that he has their attention.

 

“Pay them no mind,” Caleb says under his breath.

 

“News travels fast,” Molly mutters back at him. His smile has a bit too much sharpness to it as he gives a sarcastic little wave in their direction, unable to help himself. “They know who I am.”

 

Caleb winces in sympathy. “It was bound to get out eventually. They won’t hurt you.”

 

Molly scoffs and puts up his hood, for once trying to avoid drawing more attention to himself. “I’m not sure that I believe that sentiment. These people hate the Krynn, and I’m one of them.”

 

“I will not _let_ them hurt you.” Caleb rides close to Molly’s side, willing himself to set aside the bookish man facade for that of the Archmage. He sits up straight, puts back his shoulders, and steels his gaze.  “If they have a problem with you, they will have to go through me.”

 

“Us, too,” Beauregard adds, riding up to Molly’s other side. “We’re your bodyguards, remember?”

 

“Just say the word,” Nott’s voice calls up from behind Caleb. “I can have a bolt in their eyes in seconds.”

 

Yasha, on a horse in front of them, reaches for her greatsword. “Anything you want, Molly.”

 

Molly’s eyes widen in alarm, and he holds up a placating hand. “Now, hold on! I don’t want any bloodshed on my account, but I, uh, appreciate the sentiment. I just want to get through this with as little drama as possible.”

 

If only they could be so lucky.

 

Halfway to The Last Bastion Inn someone in the crowd that’s gathered to watch them shouts a particularly unsavory insult in Molly’s direction, and it’s only by pure force of will does Yasha not immediately jump off her horse and beat the noisy townsfolk within an inch of their life.  

 

“Leave the little person alone, Yasha,” pleads Molly, panic in his eyes. “It’s not worth it, darling. Just leave it alone.”

 

Something is thrown, hitting Molly directly in the face and causing him to fall backwards off his horse with a yelp. He falls onto the dirt road as within seconds the man who’d thrown the object is hauled off, swearing and spitting insults. Another man, apparently sharing the other’s views picks up from where they left off, picking up rocks and drunkenly lobbing them in their direction.

 

The Crownsguard form a circle around the Nein and Eodwulf in all of his commanding bulk rides forward. “Enough!” He shouts at the crowd, arcs of arcane energy forming around his fingertips. “If you cannot keep yourselves contained, Widogast and I will be forced to do what is necessary to keep the peace. Do I make myself clear?”    

 

Caleb peels his eyes away from Molly, who’s being helped up by Beauregard and Yasha, blood dripping down his chin, and wills a ball of flame into the palm of his hand. He’ll only resort to actually using it if Eodwulf’s threat goes unheeded, but the anger thrums loudly in his ears, urging him to act out. All of his training sets in motion and the years under Ikithon’s merciless thumb is the only thing that stays his hand.

 

Violence has never been Caleb’s first course of action -he’s meant to be calm and calculated- but he supposes that all the stress was bound to catch up with him eventually, and seeing the threat towards Molly is the last straw.

 

 _Calm down,_ he urges himself, _Molly’s fine. We have friends._

 

With bated breath, the crowd disperses and the two men are dragged to the stocks. As soon as the threat is cleared, Caleb jumps down and rushes to Molly’s side. “How badly are you hurt?” he asks.

 

Molly grimaces and lowers his hand. There’s a sizable gash running down from the left side of his lip from where the rock had struck. There’s no doubt in Caleb’s mind that it’ll be a new scar added to the collection.

 

“It’s fine,” Molly assures him with a lopsided smile, despite the stream of blood coating his chin and mouth. He halfheartedly swipes at it with his hand with a bit of a wince. “It’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

 

Jester is already there, tsking in rapid fire Infernal as she gently begins to stem the blood flow. “It’s pretty deep. Do you want me to use magic on it, Molly?” she asks in Common. “Because I totally will.”

 

“Nah, save your spells, dear. I’ll just stitch it up when we get to the inn.”

 

“Are you sure?” Jester pulls out a cloth from a little pouch at her belt and dabs at the cut as gently as she can. “It’s gonna be a scar on your face, and it’s gonna hurt for a while.”

 

Molly chuckles weakly, patting her hand as his eyes flick to Caleb’s face. “I’m not worried about a little scar.”

 

Caleb opens his mouth to protest, but Eodwulf cuts in. “Let’s keep moving. We can argue about it when we get off the street.”

 

Reluctantly, Caleb get back onto his horse as the others do the same. He hears them talking quietly under their breath about whether or not they’d get in trouble for kicking those guys’ asses later and Molly quietly telling them that it’s not worth bothering with.

 

Well, if Caleb does duck into the stocks later Molly doesn’t really need to know about it. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him any more than the rock did.    


End file.
